


Burn

by MissScorp



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), The Flash (TV 2014), The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Angst, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Cruelty, Drama, Established Relationship, Evolution of walkers, Explicit Language, F/M, Family, Flashpoint (DCU), Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Pre-52 Batman, Romance, Suspense, Walkers, Walking Dead: Here’s Negan, joker is joker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 78,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp
Summary: Rick Grimes believed there was no bigger threat to his family than Negan. Then a joker playing card arrives with the word HA written on it in blood. Now he must work with the last man he wants to work with, as well as with a man he thought existed only in comics to stop the laughing man or face watching what's left of his world burn.





	1. Chapter 1

_Where the hell are you?_  It was the first thought to roll through her mind as she knelt by a pair of broken tree limbs.  _I_   _know you're somewhere nearby_ …

A glance to her left revealed nothing but row upon row of thickly knotted trees. Swinging her gaze to the right revealed the same.  _Flip a coin like Two-Face. Heads I go one way, tails I go the other._ Her musings got interrupted when a soft droning, much like that of a hive of killer bees, drifted on the back of the mist creeping across the ground.  _A horde of infected is nearby._ She released a world-weary sigh.  _Not a surprise, she thought_. A horde of infected was  _always_  nearby.

The infected were the one constant inside this cartoon circus world they were living. They were something people could rally against, expect, and do something about. Life wasn't like a Nintendo game, though. There was no reset button here or extra lives. One wrong move and it was lights out, party over, see ya next life.

_If one doesn't end up as a member of the undead, first_ …

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind when a figure stumbled out of the trees. The tall, grayish man wore a pair of filthy and torn overalls. Half his right shoulder and the lower part of his left arm were missing. He trundled towards her with the undead's trademark spasmodic gait, jaw snapping, bloodless lips dripping black ooze, yellowish eyes fixed and glazed. He reached for her with blackened fingers, groaning with his want; his need for sustenance. She had no time to run, no time to think, no time to do anything more than yank the hunting knife in the sheath fixed to her belt.

Regret cruised along the arm she raised. She did not hesitate, though. She plunged the knife into his forehead, yanked it out in a spray of grayish brain matter and was on her way before his body hit the ground. Such was the way of this world. Strike first, strike fast and move on. More groaning sounded ahead. She peeked around a large tree to see a trio of undead struggling and straining to break free of the chains securing them to a tree.

Anger and pity stirred in her breast. That anyone could have tied them up and left them to suffer a long and horrible fate sickened her. Monsters, they might now be, and the deadliest of predators, but they deserved better than to slowly rot.  _They're people underneath it all_. She didn't have time to end their suffering now. She would have to come back later and do it. She made a mental note of the general area and resumed her mad trek through the forest.

_If only I didn't let Negan talk me into checking out the situation at the Chemical Plant_ … She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. It wouldn't have mattered. He knew she would intercede and kept her busy so she couldn't.  _He wants nothing to stop him from getting the pound of flesh he feels he's owed_. Worry she'd be unable to stop him from punishing whoever pissed him off lent wings to her feet. When the canopy of trees became a thick curtain that impeded her progress, she slowed from a quick jog to a fast walk.

Stopping, even for one second was  _not_  an option.

Voices came from the road ahead. Exactly how many bodies accompanied those voices, she couldn't tell. Knowing the man in question, it was more than was necessary.  _He always brings more monkeys than he needs to these demonstrations of his_. It was how he played the game of hunter versus hunted. Intimidate by surrounding his chosen victims with an overwhelming number of well-armed men.

Torment with witty taunts, terrorize with cold facts and intimidate by swinging the bat he cherished. Break apart psychologically, wear down their resolve by threatening to physically harm their loved ones, and then walk away, laughing at a joke only he got while telling those he let live how he would see them in a week for their drop-off completed his domination.

It was a mind game of the finest order.

Only a few were better at it than him: The Scarecrow, Mad Hatter, Dr. Strange, Poison Ivy.

_The Joker_.

His intent was far different, though. Negan cracked people mentally before putting them to work providing for him and his Saviors.

The Joker simply  _broke_  people.

_And laughs about it._

"I know this is hard for you, Rick."

Her head snapped up at hearing that name.  _Rick_? It couldn't be. The Rick she had known was safe in Georgia with his wife and son. A small voice warned that she shouldn't be cocky. She ignored it and crept closer, mindful of the fact that Negan could have any number of Saviors on the lookout for her. The man was many things: bold, brash, barbaric. Stupid? No way.

"You've been the King shit mother fucker for too damn long," Negan said as voices murmured agreement. "Bossing people around… been in charge so long you've become addicted to it." There was a sigh punctuated by a dark, humorless chuckle. "Hell, you probably thought you had this world all figured out. Managing the dead, gathering supplies, working together. Might have even been a real long time since the last person died. That was before you fucked with me."

She circled around the clearing and crouched on the passenger side of a battered and dirty RV. She peeked around the front bumper and stifled a small gasp. Negan was pacing back and forth, Lucille dripping with fresh blood and gore, and his minions forming a semi-circle around the traumatized group situated on their knees in front of him.  _I'm too late_ , she realized as soft sobs came from a few of the women.  _He's already delivered his punishment_.

"That shit's all over. Done. Gone. Dead. It's time for something new."

Negan waved Lucille through the air. Bits of blood and brain matter splattered the ground and the driver's side of the RV. She swallowed back the bile that foamed into her mouth.  _How many lives did you take in return for the twenty-eight they took_? From this vantage point, she couldn't see more than one body on the ground. That meant nothing with Negan, though. There could be one, two, even three bodies. Not that it mattered. Even one life ended by Lucille was one too many.

"Let this be a lesson in what happens to those who decide to fuck with me. The more you fight back, the harder it is gonna be for you. So, if I come knocking on your door? You better let us the fuck in. Because I now own that door. You try to stop us in any way and we will knock that door down. You understand?"

She scanned the Alexandrians. Four women, four men, and one boy with a bandage over one eye. Her dismay and disgust gave way to mind-numbing fear when one of the men lifted his head and stared at Negan. His face was shadowed by a thick beard more gray than brown and framed by dark curls that weren't the glossy shade of chestnut she remembered, but there was no mistaking it was him.

_Rick_.

"No," she moaned as vitriolic waves crashed over her. "Oh, God, no…"

Movement on Rick's right tore her gaze from him. She stifled a gasp when she saw the man kneeling between two women. His hair was no longer a golden halo, his clothing torn and bloody but there was no mistaking that lean body rippling with an animal-like grace.

_It can't be_ , she thought wildly.  _It's not possible_ …

Dwight pressed the point of a crossbow –  _Daryl's crossbow_  - against the back of his head, stopping him. Icy tendrils of pain radiated across her chest before spreading outwards to where her other pressure points were already coiled tighter than a clock spring.

"I want you to think about what the fuck could have happened here. Think about what did happen. And then I want y'all to think about what can still happen."

Negan smiled and pointed Lucille at Rick. She itched with the want to leap out of hiding and protect him from the foul-mouthed lech. She resisted the urge. If she confronted Negan now, if she revealed that she knew Rick, it would make things even worse for him and his people.  _I got to wait until I'm alone with Negan to confront him about Rick._

"Everything has changed, Rick. Shit is gonna be different from now on. You're entering a brand-new world. It didn't have to be such a painful process." All humor fled Negan's face and voice then. Anger and something more, something she couldn't quite define, and which caused a shudder to snake through her, flickered across his face. "You made it that way."

"I'm gonna leave you a truck," he said as he turned to leisurely stroll away. "Keep it. Use it to cart all the shit you fucks are gonna find for me." He let that comment hang for a moment. "We'll be there for our first offering in a week. Until then, ta-ta."

After Negan climbed into a vehicle and drove off she let her gaze drift back to the man kneeling in the dirt. She ached to go to Rick, to rub those shoulders and tell him everything would be okay, she would help him make it okay. However, she knew dangers far more sinister than Negan waited in the shadows.

_Oh, Rick_ … she thought as anger tangoed with fear in her belly.  _What have you gotten yourself and Tarzan into?_

_..._

"Yanno," the man,  _Simon_  he remembered that asshole calling him said. "I really expected the bitch he's been screwin' to show up and plead mercy for you dumb assholes."

_What_? Rick frowned as he stared at the lifeless body lying in a pool of blood, bone and brain matter.  _What woman_? There was no woman he knew that was going to come and plead their case. Not to a cold-blooded son of a bitch like Negan.  _So, who the hell's he talking about_? Rick went to ask him but found he just didn't have the energy to open his mouth, much less form the words. What sound he did manage was a sputter. At best, it was a sigh.

His body trembled from a combination of shock, fatigue, and grief. As he tried to process everything that happened, he realized there wasn't a part of him that  _didn't_  hurt.  _This is all my fault,_ he thought as bile gushed, hot and foamy into his mouth. If he hadn't gotten so cocky, if he hadn't blindly rushed into that depot, if he had taken the time to learn about Negan... none of this would have happened.  _My fault_ , he thought over and over as Negan's men moved around him, taking pictures of Glenn and Abraham's battered and bloody bodies.  _It's all my fault._

Abraham losing out on a chance to make amends with Rosita before starting a new life with Sasha.

Glenn never getting the opportunity to meet his son or daughter.

Carl almost having his arm chopped off with his own ax.  _And by my damn hand_.

Rosita terrorized by having that bloody bat waved in her face.

Maggie forced to watch her husband beaten to death right before her eyes.

Them now forced to serve Negan, to provide for him and his Saviors or face similar consequences.

It was  _all_  his doing.

_Negan's right_ , he thought as a jolt of white-hot pain shot from his brain all the way down his spine.  _We are a sorry buncha shits._ He squeezed his eyes shut. The swirling blackness behind his eyes caused a wave of nausea that rolled thick and greasy through his stomach.

He bore down, shoved it back.

Sweat popped out on his already clammy skin, chilling him despite the heavy jacket he wore. He must have made some sound because a rough hand bumped his forehead, lifting his face up. Rick found himself staring into Simon's leering face. Hate clashed with the grief and anger fighting for dominance. He'd love nothing more than to wipe that grin off the asshole's face. He refrained, however. Punching Negan resulted in Glenn's death. Something inside Rick warned him that the consequences for socking Simon in the mouth would be far, far more costlier.

"Yep, I really expected the bitch would come and make a case for you assholes." He made a low humming sound deep in his throat. "She's always preaching mercy. But the bitch didn't come, did she?" His grin stretched wider. "Guess saving the living don't mean all that much when it's her ass that nearly got killed by you fine folks."

"Wh-who are you talking about?" Rick managed around the sawdust filling his mouth. "What woman? There wasn't a woman there at that satellite depot."

Not that escaped alive, anyway. He didn't say that, though. Something told him it'd be bad if he did.

"Oh, she was there," Simon assured him with a nod. "She left about ten minutes before you dumb shits showed up."

Rick racked his brain, trying to remember if he saw a car leaving before they attacked, but nothing jumped out at him.

"No," he denied softly. "No, that's not possible."

"Oh, believe me, dickhead, it is." Simon chuckled, long and low. "He mighta been fit to be tied when he heard 'bout you killing Bud and the others, but he was even more pissed when he found out you almost got Fin."

"Fin?" Rick frowned. "Who is she?"

"You'll meet her soon enough, Prick." Simon's grin was feral. Predatory. Like a hungry jackal who had caught a mouse and was patiently waiting to rip it to shreds. "Pretty sure Negan'll bring her ass to your first drop-off to show her what a good boy you're being."

"Why?" Rick shook his head. "I don't understand. Why would he bring her to the first drop-off? What's so important about her?"

Simon crouched so they were eye level.

"Well, now, see, I keep asking myself that very question. Women are alike in my mind. Turn 'em upside down, they all look the same. However, Negan? He's taken a real shine to Fin. And that," he stated as he stood, "is bad for you." He chuckled softly. "Yeah, man, he's gonna make you pay for almost causing harm to the bitch. I almost feel sorry for you assholes.  _Almost_." He turned to signal to the men waiting nearby. "Let's go."

The men followed Simon without a word. Rick felt invisible bars close around him.  _Trapped_ , he realized as his head dropped.  _We're trapped_.

And there was no way out.

_What am I gonna do_? he asked himself as car doors slammed and engines sputtered.  _One wrong move and he'll take us out_.

Not for the first time, and Rick knew it wouldn't be the last, he found himself wishing he could turn back time. He'd go back to when things started to fall apart. To when they stopped making sense. To that farmhouse outside Atlanta. And the woman who left him there for reasons he only partly understood.

_I wish you were here_ , he said silently as tires spewed dirt and rocks.  _You'd know what to do. You'd find a way to fix things._

_You'd bring Batman here to stop Negan._

That thought rolled over and over in his mind as he was finally left with the bodies of his fallen friends, his family, and memories that wouldn't go away in ten lifetimes.


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl felt his belly burn with anger and hatred as he sat there in the dirt. Mixed with it was a deep abiding ache for those lying dead barely a few feet away.  _My fault_ , he thought over and over.  _Shouldn't have sucker-punched the sumbitch for talkin' all that shit he was to Rosita._ He had done it expecting Negan would turn Lucille on him. Had he suspected Negan would turn his wrath and his  _dirty girl_  on Glenn, he never would have punched the prick.

Guilt settled like a lead weight in his belly. His vision fractured at the corners. His breath started coming in short, icy gasps. The red fog grounding him to this world was slowly passing into a more dangerous shade of gray. Oblivion beckoned. However, Daryl wouldn't allow himself to sink into the arms waitin' for him with wild abandon. There was no givin' in here. There was no slumpin' down in the dirt and skippin' off into that long goodnight.

No, he had people countin' on him. A family who needed him. He glanced then at Rick. His head hung almost down to the middle of his chest, his shoulders were slumped and his breathin' was a hoarse rasp that hurt him to hear. He felt like an even bigger asshole than he already did. Rick had been countin' on him most of all.

And he let him down.

_Rick, man, I'm sorry._

He was sorrier than he had ever been. Regret weighed on him heavier than a three-hundred-pound buck. All of this had come to pass because of  _him_. He was the one who allowed himself to become blinded by his own want and need for revenge.  _Glenn _was right__.  _I was only doing this for me_. And because he couldn't see through the red haze of his own selfishness he got Rosita, Glenn and Michonne captured and brought before this baseball bat-wielding asshole.

_My goddamn fault_.  _All of this, every damn ounce of it, it's on my head. Had I not been so damned selfish, had I not been so stupid, I wouldn't have walked us into the asshole's trap_. No, he would have been in the RV and able to tell Rick he thought somethin' was up, somethin' was wrong and that they needed to head back to Alexandria to plan out another way to get Maggie to that Hilltop doctor.  _I'd have _figured out how we could avoid the sumbitches__   _and not have_   _ended up on our knees in front of 'em._

_Their_  death,  _their_  blood, it was all on  _his_  hands. He was the one who caused this to happen. Who fired the RPG at Negan's men? Him. Who suggested them taking out Negan? Him. Who seconded the raid on that depot? Him. Who got Denise killed? Him. He had allowed himself to become the one thing he feared becoming after they settled in Alexandria:  _complacent_. Hard as he had fought against it, try as he had to avoid letting it happen, he had gotten soft.

_I'm the asshole who shoulda got his damn fool head bashed in,_ he thought as he listened to the quiet sobs coming from the woman kneeling beside him.  _It's me the sumbitch shoulda picked at the end of his little eeny, meeny miny, moe game._ Not that he hadn't tried to get himself picked. Like Abraham, he stared the smiling bastard down, willing Negan to have the balls to select him, to aim his bat at him, to put him down for the count. The way he saw it? It was as good a night as any to die. Hell, he had been livin' on borrowed time for all these years anyway.

His stomach pitched and he had to swallow back the bile that surged into his throat. He wasn't gonna puke. He refused to give any of Negan's men the satisfaction of seeing him heave his guts up. Pain rippled but was also ruthlessly rejected. He didn't have time to mollycoddle his dumb ass. Or whine about his boo-boos. Not when people were counting on him.

'Then why don't you get up and do somethin', dummy?'

_Great_ , he thought as he drew in a ragged breath.  _Now_ _I got my dead brother talkin' to my ass_.

'Well, now, son, I can guarantee that I'm as real as that chupacabra you saw.'

Of course, the first thing his brother would remind him about was that chupacabra.

_Know what I saw, jackass_.

'Man, you saw what them 'shrooms you ate wanted you to see.'

And his days taking whatever drugs Merle shoved at him would be the second thing.

_Yeah, well, know I ain't gonna see your dumb ass if'n I look up_.

'Why don't you look up then? Huh?' Merle demanded in a dark rasp. 'If you so damn sure you ain't gonna see me, why you starin' at the ground as if you some scalded coonhound?'

Daryl bit back a sigh.

_I liked it better when you were dead._

'Say that to my face if you got any nuts left in that sack of yours.' Daryl closed his eyes and counted to ten. With his brother, though, ten didn't even begin to dull the blade of exasperation. Especially not when he taunted him further by saying, 'C'mon, Darylina. Say that shit to my face.'

Daryl slowly lifted his head. He fully expected to find nothing in front of him but the same grisly scene he had been seeing all night. He was taken aback when he saw his brother, larger than life, smiling down at him. The part of his brain still capable of rational thought knew Merle was nothing but a hallucination created by fatigue and blood loss. His brother was dead. He was the one to see to it. And yet the other part of him, the one that was long past caring 'bout much of anythin', couldn't deny how relieved he was to see his brother was the one sent to lead him to Hell.

_Merle_...

'Wha'chu doin', little brother?'

_Hell's_ _it look like I'm doin'_?

'Looks like you takin' a siesta instead of gettin' your ass up and going after that asshole for bashin' that Asian's kid head in.'

_Got shot, jackass_.

'Want me to get you a pillow and blankie?' Merle knelt in front of him. 'Want me to kiss your boo-boo? Rub your feet?'

_Screw you, bro_.

Merle indicated the men walking around with a jerk of his head. 'You're the one screwed from the looks of it.'

Daryl lowered his head.

_Tell me somethin' I don't already know_.

'You this Negan's bitch now instead of your pal, Rick's?'

That brought his head up. And ignited his temper.

_I ain't nobody's bitch._

'Soft is what you are.' Merle's sigh chilled his feverish skin. 'All the years I spent tryin' to make a man of you, this is what I get?' Disgust was coated with a thick ripple of disdain. 'Look at you. Kneelin' in the dirt like you ready to suck some asshole off.'

_Hell, you want from me, man?_ Daryl stared into his brother's face.  _Huh?_

'I want you to get your dumb ass up.'

_Told you, can't._

'Why? Cause you got a little boo-boo? Hell, we got worse whenever daddy was good and riled up.'

_'Cause I ain't gonna let anybody else get hurt 'cause of my ass._

'You gonna die out here then, man. And for what?' Merle sniffed. 'Your pride?'

_Deserve it._

'That's all you gotta say? You  _deserve_  it?" Merle shook his head. "Man, you gone limp as an old man's dick.'

_Hell, you know? Huh?_ _Your ass went and got itself killed by that asshole, the Governor_.

''Cause I was tryin' to protect your dumb ass.'

_Right,_ he scoffed.  _You ain't ever protected me_.

'Come on, now, you know Ole Merle has always been on your side. Only one who has been.'

_Yeah?_ He grunted as a bolt of pain streaked down his arm and burned in his fingers.  _Since when?_

'Hell, since the day you were born.' Merle rested his arms on his bent knees. 'Somebody had to look after your worthless hide.'

_You never took care of me,_  he told his brother furiously.  _You can talk as big a game as you want, but you know your ass was never there for me. Hell, you ain't even here now. Not really._

'Like these people take care of you?' Merle asked, cocking his head towards the remaining members of his group. 'Who you tryin' to kid here, man?' He barked a laugh that grated on Daryl's already frayed nerves. 'Me or you?'

_They done right by me._

'You think they gonna continue to do right by you once y'all return to whatever bullshit camp your Rick found for you to set up house in?' Merle shook his head. 'I got a little news for you, son. All you are is redneck trash to them. No better than them sumbitches following that prick, Negan.'

_Shut up._

Last time he told Merle to shut up had ended with his shirt being torn down the back and the truth of what he endured at their daddy's hands finally revealed.

'They gonna scrape you off their heels,' Merle said. 'Like you was dog shit.'

_You don't know what the hell you're talkin' 'bout._ Daryl narrowed his eyes at him.  _Like always._

'They're laughing at you behind your back. Callin' you what you are: a joke.'

_I said shut the hell up._

'Look, son.' All humor fled Merle's face now. 'They don't care about you. Not like I do. Hell, even Miss Priss cared more about you than these people and you done forgot all about her. And about them snot-nosed brats she had hangin' off her bra straps.'

_Bullshit. I ain't ever forgot about Mule. Or 'bout them kids._

'See you ain't tried all that hard to find 'em.'

Not finding Mule was on his list of life's biggest regrets. It was right up there with losing Beth, in fact. Only, he hadn't lost Mule because of some assholes comin' along and kidnappin' her. No, she had up and split. And managed to cover her tracks so that he hadn't been able to follow her. How she done it, he didn't know. He was an expert hunter and tracker. She shouldn't have managed to evade him.

_I tried like hell to find her and them kids. Couldn't._

'You done gave up on her, man. Same as you gave up on Ole Merle.'

_Can't follow tracks that don't exist, bro_.

'You gave up. Quit.' Merle frowned down at him. 'Just like a pussy.'

_All Mule had to do was wait for us at that damn campground I told her to head for. She didn't._

'Yeah, and why you think that was? Huh?'

_'Cause she decided to go home._

He didn't add,  _where her ass belonged._ The way he saw it? She made the right choice.

"Did she? Or was it 'cause I gave her the wrong directions to the campground?'

He had long suspected that was why Mule had not been at the campground they agreed upon meeting at should they find themselves separated. As skilled as the woman was at tracking criminals, as good a hunter as she surprisingly was, she sucked balls at reading things like maps. Even clearly written out directions could result in her ending up twenty miles opposite of where the hell she was supposed to be.

_Why you do that to her?_ he demanded as his fingers dug deeper into the dirt.  _She weren't any threat to you._

'Woman was nothin' but trouble.'

_All Mule did was toss your shit back at you._

'Yeah, and I sure showed her, didn't I?'

_What you show her? What an asshole you are? Hell, she already knew that._

A lopsided grin tugged at Merle's lips. 'I did have a way of gettin' under her skin, didn't I?'

_And she still tried like hell to like you,_ _despite all the shit you said and did._

'Then why ain't you found her?' Merle cocked his head to the side. 'Huh?'

_Told you. Can't follow tracks_ -

'C'mon, man!' Exasperation exploded as Merle rose to pace in small tight circles in front of him. 'That's a buncha bullshit and you know it!'

_You so smart you go and find her trail then._

Instead of replying to his dare, Merle murmured, 'Well, seems like Prissy done decided to come and find your dumb ass for herself.'

_Mule?_ _That ain't possible. Mule is back in Gotham. Where her ass belongs._

'Yeah?' Merle waved a hand towards the RV. 'Then who the hell is that?'

Daryl slowly looked up. He felt his heart twist when he saw the dark-haired woman crouching beside the front end of the RV. Mule's green eyes met his. Fear and grief were stamped on her pale face. She placed a finger to her lips as Simon turned to amble over to a vehicle parked a few feet from where she was hiding.

'So, tell me, little brother...' Merle said soon as the last of Negan's men drove off. 'That Miss Priss?' He paused. 'Or she a damn chupacabra, too?'

_..._

Raya crept out of her hiding place once Simon and his band of morons were gone. Simon baiting Rick had been harder to sit and watch than when Negan had done it. She didn't have any choice, though. Simon was dangerous. Much more-so than Negan.

He'd kill everyone there just to get back at her for revealing what he did to the people at Oceanside.  _I must tread lightly_ , she thought as she made her way towards Rick.  _I can't let Simon learn of my connection to Rick or to Daryl_.

"Rick..." she called softly as she stopped a few feet from him. "Rick?"

He slowly lifted his head and looked at her. The sight of those red-rimmed eyes hurt more than any physical blow. He was hurting and badly. Who wouldn't be after everything he endured?  _Tonight's just the icing on top of nearly three years of nightmares_ , she realized as she stared at him. Guilt settled like a lead bomb in her belly.  _He wouldn't have suffered if I'd stayed._

"Raya?"

"Yes."

A frown puckered his brow. "Is it really you?"

It was a curious thing for him to ask.  _Who else did he expect to see_? She shoved the thought aside, chalked it up to his mind being close to the limit of what it could handle.

"Yes, it's really me."

For a moment it seemed like he was going to just stay where he was. Then he surged to his feet in a surprisingly agile move and yanked her into a hard, desperate embrace that left her sputtering. He didn't bother to apologize for bursting into her personal space. She didn't think he could. Not that she wanted him too.

"You're here," he whispered into the silky coils of hair at her nape. "I don't know how or why, but you're here."

"Of course, I'm here." She shifted, settled herself more firmly against him and rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles. "I'm just sorry I didn't get here in time to stop him from harming your friends."

"Doesn't matter." His fingers dug into her shirt, held fast. "You're here now."

"And I'm staying this time." Realizing he was trembling as much from fatigue as grief, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. "I promise that I won't run away because I'm afraid the monsters from my past will come and hurt you."

"They're already here," he whispered into her hair. "They've always been here. We just couldn't see them."

"You were never supposed to see them," she told him. "You were never supposed to see the monsters in the dark, Rick."

_Because we're supposed to stop them_ , she added silently.  _And we failed._

_We failed you all._

…

He watched from the cover of some trees. The little darling clung to a man in a brown jacket. Whoever the dark-haired fellow was, he didn't know. Nor did he rightly care. His interest was solely in the woman who was comforting him.  _Soon_ , he thought, lips spreading into a wide grin that caused the rodents to burrow even deeper into their dens. Soon he would have his ultimate revenge. And,  _oh_! What glorious fun it was gonna be!

Why, it was even gonna make what he did to husky Robin look like child's play!  _And that takes some doing!_ A soft cackle escaped but was quickly stifled. Wouldn't do to let the little lovely discover him lurking. Not until it was time to spring his glorious surprise! And what a surprise it was! It took some serious planning, but it was all worth it.  _Told ya I would make ya pay, Toots_!

Yes, he not only figured out how he was gonna bring his and his Dark Knight's little love story to a smashing end, but he figured out how he was gonna have his vengeance upon the little princess, as well.  _Dared to tell me no?_ He pouted.  _Nobody tells me no! Not even the Big Guy_!

Feigning his death, convincing the Bats that it was his body he carried from the Monarch Theater, and him they tossed in the incinerator had been the easy part. Finding where ole Batsy stashed this little birdie? Well, now,  _that_  had taken a bit of doing.  _It was all worth it_ , he thought again as the man led her over to where the others gathered around a bludgeoned body. He had found her...

"Twinkle, twinkle, my dearest brat," he softly sang as he turned to head deeper into the forest. "This time you're gonna call the big black Bat..."


	3. Chapter 3

Reality took its sweet ass time returnin'. He came awake in batches. Why exactly he was waking up, he didn't know. The last thing he remembered was staring at Mule as she crouched by the front bumper of the RV. Then he got plunged down the rabbit hole into Bullshitland. The back of his eyelids was hit by a sudden, blindin' flash of light. He tossed an arm across his eyes in an instinctive, protective gesture. Not that it really helped any damn thing. The images that shot across the back of his eyelids were from the most terrible moments of the previous night.

The side of Rick's face gettin' splashed with blood as that damn bat of Negan's swung to the side after clubbin' Abraham on the top of his head.

Glenn lookin' over at Maggie, his face a gruesome mask of blood and dripping gray matter, one eye nearly popping out from its socket and tellin' her he'd find her.

Negan grabbin' Rick by his collar and draggin' him into the RV and off to only God knew where.

And the last, most bitter memory of all from that night: the kid telling Rick to go ahead and saw his damn arm off.

A well of self-hatred, bitter regret, and soul-sucking pain slammed into him with each image and knocked him back into the void he had barely escaped from. He found himself again floatin' on that dark cloud. This time he embraced it, allowed the cool, calm quiet to settle the nausea boilin' in his belly.

told himself this was where a festerin' pile of dog shit like him deserved to end up. Physical pain he could handle. The shit his daddy, uncle, and Merle did made him tough. Hell, at five he'd gotten his broken arm set without makin' a lick of sound. Nothin' had prepared him for this sorta ball-bustin' shit, though.

As he laid there among the gigglin' assholes with wings, Daryl found himself start wonderin' about whether he had finally been put down for the count. Maybe he had finally got knocked in the head and this was just his body's last attempt to rally back to the fight.  _It's what I damn sure deserve after what I did to Glenn_ , he thought a second before searing pain ripped through his skull and brought more images he didn't wanna see.

Negan aiming Lucile, still dripping bloody molasses into Rosita's ashen face.

Rick kneelin' in the dirt with his head lowered.

The last image was the one that had his tormentors taunting and jeering the most. Not like he didn't feel like a goddamn lowlife scumball. He let every damn body down. He was why they were in the fix they were in. Had he not let his pride, his ego get in the way, they wouldn't have ended up as Negan's chew toys. Groaning, Daryl put his hands to his head and prayed for the images, the thoughts, and the pain to stop. 

_Just five minutes,_  he begged whatever gods might even be listenin' to losers like him.  _Just give me five damn minutes of nothin' in my head_. It didn't seem like all that much to ask for. Not that he deserved mercy. The first part of his prayer was answered as his pain subsided to a low, dull throb. His thoughts stilled. It was just the images that took their sweet ass time in going away. Eventually, though they, too, stopped comin'.

He used the quiet to allow his other senses to catch up with his messed-up brain. Sound and smell came as he pushed himself again towards a state of consciousness. Burnt motor oil, gasoline, dirt, and blood teased at his nostrils while the sputter of a V8 in need of some serious engine work assaulted his poor eardrums. A faint thought about how ironic it was that the car bearin' him to hell was a piece of shit floated through his mind.

Then the vehicle hit a rut in the road, bouncin' him right back into the arms of pain. He bit back a few choice sayin's as a slow, steady throbbin' started in the back of his fool head. A second later his eyeballs pulsated with it. Then the rest of his worthless hide joined the party.

Most of the pain seemed stuck to his shoulder, chest, neck, and ribs. As Daryl lay there, taking stock of his physical condition and cursin' whatever angel kept him from joinin' Merle in whatever pit of hell  _he_ was roastin' in, he realized there wasn't a place on his damn hide that  _didn't_  hurt. Even his damn eyelashes pulsed with pain. However, it was the bearable kinda pain and not the breath stealin', strength zappin', hallucinatin' sorta shit he had been havin' back in that clearin'.

_Least I ain't seein' or hearin' Merle at the moment..._

As if he conjured his older brother up from out of thin air, Daryl heard a snort and Merle saying, 'Looks like you done got screwed by the pooch here, son.'

_Tell me somethin' I don't already know, jackass._

'Open your eyes and you'll see shit for yourself.'

Even if he could manage to open his eyes, he was sure the only thing he'd see would be Merle sitting back with that shit-eating grin of his stretched wide across his leathery face.

_Your ass still ain't real_ , he told him.  _Don't care what the hell you say_.

'Well, now, son, I guarantee you that I'm still more real than that damn Chupacabra you claim to have seen.'

Daryl merely heaved a sigh.

_Ain't got time for your bullshit, Merle_.

'Why the hell not?' Merle demanded. 'Since you just layin' there like some fancy whore.'

Daryl just ignored his brother. The way he saw it, there'd be plenty of time for them to chew the fat after he got his one-way trip downstairs. He tried to move but felt his shoulder scream in protest. He supposed feelin' pain of any kind was a good sign. If Mule was there, she'd tell him how feelin' anythin' was a good sign. Damn woman was full of notions he hadn't cottoned too back when they were travelin' together.  _Like chirpin' about how my ass wasn't dead because I hadn't finished whatever bullshit the guy upstairs needed me to do_.

He bit back a groan as the vehicle bounced over another batch of uneven road. An almost desperate wish to suddenly feel her cool hand brush back the hair stickin' to his clammy flesh rose in him but he slapped it back with a curse. He didn't have any right to comfort. Not after what he did.  _And her mule-headed ass is where it belongs_ , he thought, grimacing as a jolt of white-hot pain shot through his shoulder and down across his chest and abdominal region.  _She'll take care of Rick and the others._

As he should have done.

Daryl swallowed the guilt that surged into his mouth and cautiously opened his eyes. He regretted the decision immediately. The world flyin' by the window on his left caused his belly to roll over. For a moment he thought he was gonna puke. He bore down, shoved the nausea back and tried to sit up but found he was being held in place by satin-smooth tentacles that tightened about him the more he moved.  _Or maybe_ , he reasoned as agony shot across his chest, and along his arm,  _it is just my damn body refusin' to obey my brain's command to sit the hell up_.

He must have made some sorta sound because a hand gloved in black leather was set upon his shoulder and a voice smooth as molasses was tellin' him, "we'll be at the Sanctuary in a few minutes."

His first thought after hearing that was:  _who's this asshole?_  It was quickly followed by,  _and what's this Sanctuary he talkin' 'bout?_ Somethin' told him it wasn't wherever Mule and her kids were stayin'. A deeper, darker, more primal part of him warned him about how this Sanctuary could well be someplace he didn't wanna end up at.  _And this guy could be one of Negan's bitch buddies_.

"Who'n hell are you?"

He had spoken the words. He knew he had said them. He could feel them on his lips still. Yet nothing echoed in the silent can that suggested he made a lick of sound. He cleared his throat, moistened his lips and went to try again but a sigh broke the quiet and muzzled him before his mouth could go into rapid-fire mode.

"Look, man, I know you gotta have a shit ton of questions," he heard him - he assumed it was a  _him_  anyway - say over the whine and snarl of the engine. "And I promise I'll do my best to answer every one of 'em once we get to the Sanctuary."

Daryl ignored the blindin' pain any slight bit of movement caused and twisted his head around so he could stare at the figure seated in the driver's seat. A frown pulled at his brow and increased the throbbin' goin' on behind his eyeballs. He ignored his physical bullshit and took stock of the prick he figured was the one who clubbed him over the head.

The red hood the asshole had pulled up over his or her head hid their face completely from view. He couldn't see if the guy was young, old, or even a dude for that matter. Could be a real masculine chick, he decided as he tried to angle his head in a way that would allow him to look in the rearview mirror. He couldn't see shit from his prone position and his body was warnin' him 'bout the price he'd pay if'n he tried to sit up.

"Who'n the hell are you?" He managed around the sawdust fillin' his throat and mouth. "And where the hell is this Sanctuary you takin' me?"

The leather-wearin' sumbitch turned their head just enough that Daryl could see the outline of the red half-mask that covered the upper part of their face.  _Could the prick be a friend of Mule's? Or an enemy_? he wondered.  _How many of these mask wearin' folk are out there_? Mule and maybe Batman - who he still doubted existed - was more than enough for him.  _Ain't likin' how she gotta put that mask on and fight these shits at times_...

A cursory glance around the back of the vehicle revealed a brown quiver with some fancy black arrows in it, a far more flashy recurve bow than what Mule used, and some hunting knives and other thingamabobs that reminded him of some of the fancy ass shit he'd seen in that small armory the mulish woman had.

"You can call me Roy," his kidnapper said. "Or Harper."

The name tickled a memory buried deep beneath all the other crap he had festerin' inside his head.  _Mule talked 'bout some kid she took in for a time. Showed me a picture of some dark-haired fella in a red jacket. Called him Harper. Could this be his ass_? He couldn't say for sure. Not without seeing the sumbitch in a better light, without his mask and hood.  _And without my damn head throbbin' like a bad tooth_. He opted to go the direct route and ask him.

"You know Mule?"

"Mule?" That hooded head shook back and forth slowly. "Sorry, but I don't know anybody named Mule. Why?"

_Well, there goes that_ , Daryl thought. "Just askin'."

"Are you by chance referring to Raya?" his kidnapper asked. "She's the only person I know who is as stubborn as a mule and just as temperamental as one."

He grunted as they hit another bump in the road. "Yeah, that's Mule."

"Then, yes, I do know a Mule. Only, I call her Raya. Or Nix when she's out on patrol."

"Yeah?" He rasped as he tried to push himself into a seated position. "Well, how you think she gonna like your crackin' me over the head and draggin' my ass off to wherever this Sanctuary is?"

"She's not gonna be very happy with me," Roy admitted as he swerved to miss a pothole. Daryl got tossed against the side of the SUV and felt pain radiate out from the hole in his right shoulder. He swallowed some choice words as Roy uttered a terse, "Sorry! Got some undead crowding the access road I use to get in and outta the Sanctuary."

"Yeah,  _Roy_ , how 'bout you tell me 'bout this Sanctuary you takin' my ass too?"

Roy swerved again but Daryl was able to grab hold of the back of the seat before he got tossed to the other side of the vehicle.

"You already know the answer to that, man."

Yeah, he had a feeling he was gonna end up in hell sooner rather than later.  _Just didn't know that the devil is that leather jacket wearin', bat wieldin' asshole_.

"So, you takin' my ass to that ball bat wieldin' prick."

"Look, it's not like I relish taking you to Negan. The truth is..." Roy trailed off into a sigh. "Truth is, I don't have any other choice about where to take you. The only place that is safe at this time, is the Sanctuary."

"And how you figure that?" He grunted as they hit another rut. "Huh? In case you ain't been payin' a lick of attention to the shit that just went down, Negan has me and my family at his damn mercy."

"I know he does." His soft words were followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. "And trust me, he is going to relish trying to break you." Daryl heard the groaning of leather over the whine of the brakes. "I was actually surprised when he didn't order you taken as a captive. His other way of punishing those who cross him is turning people into his henchmen and using them against their former friends and communities."

"Yeah?" Daryl swallowed a curse as he pushed himself into a seated position. "Well, I ain't gonna be his bitch. He can kiss my ass 'bout that."

"Remember that when he's doing everything he can to break you." Roy parked the vehicle between some trees. "And know that no matter what he does to you? What Slade Wilson would do to you is much, much worse."

That name set off alarm bells inside Daryl's head. Ones that were even louder than the ones already ringin' like Christmas bells. He'd heard that name before. But where? And by who? He was about to ask him who the sumbitch was when Roy turned in his seat to look at Daryl. His eyes, behind that reddish mask, burned with an anger that he understood all too well.

"Negan," he said in all seriousness now, "just wants you to provide for him. Slade Wilson on the other hand? He wants to use you to get at her."

"Her?" Suspicion thickened his voice. "You mean Mule?"

"Yes."

The flood of anger that filled him at some prick wantin' to use him to get at Mule chased away any lingerin' pain and emotional bullshit he was feelin'.

"Why he wanna use me to get at Mule?" The edges of his vision blurred as he pushed himself upright, but he slapped the fog back and demanded, "What's his beef with her?"

"I shouldn't-" Roy began but Daryl cut him off before he could spew whatever bullshit about to leave his mouth.

"Why the hell he wanna use me to get at Mule?" He repeated, more firmly this time. "Hell's he want with her?"

"Well, he's…" Roy paused, considering his words carefully. "Dammit, he's Rose's biological father."

"He's the stalker sumbitch Mule moved to Georgia to get the hell away from?"

"Yes."

"And he wants my ass to do what? Get his daughter for him?" He sniffed, once. "Ain't gonna happen."

"He wants to force Raya into trading Rose for you."

"Yeah, well, that shit ain't gonna happen either." He fixed Roy with a look that burned with the fire in his belly. "You hear me? Sumbitch ain't gonna use me to force Mule into givin' up her kid."

He'd put his own ass down before he'd let that shit happen.

"Do you understand why I had to bring you to the Sanctuary now?" Exhaustion and frustration coated every syllable that tripped off Roy's tongue. "Do you see why I have to give you over to a man who is going to physically and psychologically torture you every moment that he can?"

"Why it gotta be Negan's damn Sanctuary is what I wanna know?" He stared Roy dead in the eye, demanding an explanation and darin' him to lie to him all at the same time. "Why can't it be wherever the hell Mule is?"

Roy hesitated for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and said simply, honestly, "Because I know that as long as Negan has you as his pet, Slade can't get his hands on you. And so long as Slade can't get his hands on you..."

"Mule can't trade Rose for my worthless ass," Daryl finished for him, nodding slightly. "Yeah, I got it."

"Do you?" Roy's face shined with intensity and regret now. "Because she's not going too. In fact, she's likely to kick my ass from here to Gotham when she finds out what I've done."

Daryl grunted. "Did what you gotta."

"She won't see it like that," Roy admitted, grimacing. "She doesn't see that you're her kryptonite. You, your leader and his boy are what Slade can use to bring her to her knees."

"I ain't-" he began.

"You're everything," Roy finished for him. "You might not see it… but it's true. You're family. And she will tear the world itself apart to get to you. To any of you. I've seen her do it before."

"Yeah, well, ain't gonna happen," he muttered as he lowered his head. He told himself it wasn't that he was uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. Hell, he knew how pissy she could get when one of her own was in danger. It was that he didn't deserve that kinda loyalty. "I'll make damn sure she minds herself."


	4. Chapter 4

She had the prettiest set of goddamn eyes he had ever fucking seen on a woman.

Mist green, like the paint on that '70 Chevelle he drove Lucille to their Winter Formal in. Lime green, like the shag carpet whatever shithead had laid in their first house. Green, like that silk dress Lucille wore the last time he took her out to dinner and a movie.

He stopped his jolly jaunt down memory lane before he even got a fourth of the way down the path. It wasn't that he didn't want to remember his beautiful Lucille. He did. There was no way he would ever forget his wife. Bash his goddamn brains in and he'd still remember his Lucille. She was his first thought every morning and his last thought before he closed his eyes at night. Even gone, she was the most important woman in his life. Lucille was, and always would be, his entire world.

Hell, he named his bat after her so that he could carry a piece of her with him forever. All the good times they had together rose in his mind despite his efforts to stop them. He remembered their trip to the Grand Canyon, walking around Graceland, strolling along the ocean at Sandbridge, hearing her cheer him on as he played in that ping-pong tournament. That was all before he became a sorry shit of a husband who did the worst fucking thing a man could do to the woman he professed to love above all others.

Before she got sick.

Before he did the second most unforgivable thing a man could do to the woman he loved.

His Lucille, nothing but a pile of dusty bones left on a hospital floor because he didn't have the balls to go back and lay her to rest properly.

That, more than anything, was why he didn't want to take a trip to Negan-land. He didn't need his emotions fucking him raw. The only thing he wanted at that moment was to be balls deep in one of his wives.  _No, scratch that_ , he thought as he stared up at the woman whose delectable body and a good majority of her spectacular face were wreathed in shadows.  _I'd like nothing better than being balls deep in you, baby doll._

And excuse the shit outta him, but he could almost swear those big green eyes were all but begging him to cart her off into some nice, quiet little corner and screw her until his dick broke off inside her.

Not that the goddamn woman would admit that was exactly what she really wanted him to do. Hell no. Be too easy.

And Fin was not one thing:  _easy_.

Where she had been the last few days wasn't important. She was there. That was all that mattered.  _Maybe she's finally come to her goddamn senses._ Soon as that thought rolled through his mind, he discarded it. Fin coming to her senses would be the sign the goddamn world was about to explode.  _Who needs the Four Horsemen with her tight ass around_?

Negan could admit, albeit only to himself, that he admired Fin for her independence, iron-will, and intelligence. Nobody took care of Fin. She took care of herself. She did a right admirable job of it, he had to admit. He had not met a woman who equaled her in terms of physical and tactical skill. However, he fully intended to use what happened with Prick to convince her it was time she stay here at the Sanctuary. There was every reason for her to yield to his wishes after what they did at his satellite depot. Prick and them buncha dumb bastards couldn't lay so much as one finger on her if she was here at the Sanctuary.

_Yeah, you have finally run out of excuses, baby doll_ …

Negan's smile deepened as he slowly prowled towards her. Opportunity had come knocking and he fully intended to open the door to it. He was in full hunt mode now. All he needed to do now that he had located his prey was capture her.  _And savor my victory_. Inwardly, his grin was the essence of predatory; outwardly, his expression said absolutely nothing at all. Fat Joey materialized from out of nowhere. Where the hell he had been lurking, Negan didn't know. And he didn't give a shit. The obtuse bastard was cockblocking him and he didn't appreciate it one bit.  _Not cool_. Negan shot him a mildly annoyed look from the corner of his eye.  _You have absolutely no clue how uncool this shit is_. Well, he'd get rid of the rotund sonuvabitch right quick.

"Treat Lucille like a lady," he told him as he handed him, Lucille. "Stroke her gently." He kept his eyes locked on the woman just a few steps away, letting her know his words carried a double meaning. "Make sure she goes to sleep with a smile."

He didn't have to look at the obese bastard's face to know there was a look of absolute confusion stamped upon it. The sorry shit wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was damn loyal and good for a laugh or two. Besides that, he was proving useful at keeping the herd away not only from the Sanctuary but his other holdings, as well. Still, the man did need a cattle-prod stuck up his ass sometimes to properly motivate him. He glanced at him, saw Fat Joey was staring at Fin with something akin to admiration and longing. As if the fat sonuvabitch stood a chance with a woman as classy as Fin.

"I just gave your ass an order."

What would happen if Fat Joey didn't move his ass wasn't something that needed elaborating upon. The rotund shithead held what would happen if he didn't get going. Lucille might have had her thirst satisfied when he cracked open that second shit's head, but that didn't mean she wouldn't be hungry again soon. Amusement swam through him as he watched Fat Joey haul ass. Then his attention returned to the woman whose scent was already twisting his insides into knots. He prowled the remaining distance to where Fin stood.

There was nothing he'd like more than to worship each one of the curves on display before him. The dress he had personally given her flowed down her body in a waterfall of emerald-green silk, leaving one arm and those long, coltish legs of her free for him to gaze upon to his heart's content. Her dark hair was left to curl down her back just as he liked it. Negan had met a lot of women since this shit mess started. Quite a few of them had been a lot more gorgeous than Fin. However, there was something about her that put her in a league all her own.

What set this woman apart from the other members of her fair and tender gender was the fact she had a brain inside that head of hers. And she wasn't afraid to use it. Fin sizzled with confidence, radiated polish and sophistication, and took mysterious to entirely new levels, but she was also smarter than every one of the sorry shits he had working for him.  _Shit, she's the one who not only figured out who that murdering, raping shithead was, but why he was targeting my wives._

And she brought the sonuvabitch down by tricking him into going after her.

Those brains combined with that sweet ass body was why he always acted like a randy teenager in the backseat of a car with a girl for the first time. Only distantly did he think about how much like his wife Fin was. Lucille called him out on his bullshit all the time, didn't take his shit without giving it right back, and would speak her mind even when he didn't want to hear it.

She wasn't afraid of him any more than Fin...

The thought brought him up short. He would have explored it further but the sound of silk rustling diverted his attention back to much more pleasurable thoughts. He drew abreast of Fin and smiled wide.

"Well, aren't you just a sight for sore eyes?"

"What do you plan to do with the Alexandrian's?" She asked in lieu of a greeting. "Beyond forcing them to provide for you, of course."

He ignored her question, too focused that moment on his goal of getting her in his bed, naked as the day she came into the world, and screaming until she was hoarse.

"What? No kiss hello?" He flashed a grin. "No hi, how're you? I was just thinking about you? Or I missed you?"

She issued a small little  _harrumph_  before grumbling, "Would you please be serious?"

"I'm being perfectly serious." He leaned down so he could whisper in her ear, "I seriously am picturing you naked and beneath me."

"Gee, there's a surprise."

Even her sarcastic tongue turned him on. He switched tactics, sensing she was uptight and edgy about something. Not that he needed many clues about what the  _something_  was.

"Would it surprise you to hear that I missed you?"

It was the truth, he realized with some surprise. He  _had_  missed her. He missed their teasing banter, their heated debates, their quiet conversations about this shit mess they were struggling to survive in. He missed having her cute lil' ass cuddled up next to him in bed, the feel of her warm body under his palm, and her breath drifting across his skin as she slept. He even missed the feel of her hand curved over his heart.

"No, it wouldn't surprise me." She shifted so she could look at him. "There's not much about you that does surprise me, Negan. Not anymore."

"Did you miss daddy?" He edged closer, caging her between him and the wall next to his bedroom door. "C'mon, you can admit it."

"I keep telling you that you're not my daddy," she drawled. "And yes, I admit that a part of me did miss you." Her eyes flickered briefly with a hint of mischief and something else that had the blood shooting to his lower appendage. "For all of thirty seconds."

"Aw, why don't you come inside and sit on my lap?" He dropped his voice an octave. "You can whisper in my ear about all the ways you'd like me to use to make up for our fight."

"Negan..." she said with a long, weary sigh. "Be serious, please."

"I am being serious," he replied as the scent of flowers and woman rose up and surrounded him until he thought he would drown. "Pleasuring you is a delight and honor."

Another sigh cruised along his already overheated flesh, stimulating what few senses weren't already jumping with anticipation.

"Could you try to pay attention here?"

"I'm trying, darlin', but you're just too much of a temptation for me to ignore."

She didn't reply to that. Not that he expected her to.

"What is it that you have planned for the Alexandrian's?" Her tone was as sharp as the barbs wrapped around Lucille. "Now that you have them under your control, I mean."

Negan said nothing for a moment. He needed to curb that sharp tongue of hers. It was his own fault, though. He was the one who had given her the leeway to speak her mind. Her bluntness amused as much as it aroused him. However, she still needed to remember that she was in  _his_  Sanctuary.  _He_  was the King of this castle. He didn't answer to her or to anybody else for that matter.

"What does it matter to you about what I am going to do with them sorry pieces of shit?"

"Just answer my question."

"Ahem?"

The look she gave him would have withered the balls on a bull. Negan found himself more than a little impressed. And hornier than a Catholic priest on the first day of kindergarten at an all-boys school.

"Please, answer my question?"

"Repeat it."

She muttered something under her breath but complied.

"What is it that you have planned for the Alexandrian's now that you have them under your control?"

_How does she even know about them assholes at Alexandria_? Not for the first time, and Negan had a sneaky feeling it wouldn't be the last, he found himself wondering what Fin did when she was not here with him. He leaned back to study her flawless face. Nothing showed but for a bone-deep weariness, he understood far better than he wanted to admit.

"How do you even know what I did to them sorry buncha pricks from Alexandria?"

"It's not like you have been quiet about your feelings towards them."

That much was true. He had made it perfectly clear he wanted Prick's balls in a vice for the shit they pulled at his supply depot.

"What are you even doing here?" He finally asked. "I thought you were still pissed at me for sending my men to kill the men who killed my men who ended up killing even more of my men?"

"I'm still pissed off at you about that," she informed him in a prim tone. "Don't think that my being here in any way negates how I feel."

_Color me surprised_ , he thought with a sigh.

"They killed my men and tried to take my shit."

_Had you been at that depot an hour longer_ ,  _the sons-of-bitches_ _could have hurt you_. That part he didn't tell her. The less that Fin knew about why he went after Prick the way he did, the more comfortable and in control he felt.

"And two wrongs somehow make a right here?" She shook her head. "C'mon, Negan. You know as well as I that-"

"Enough," he ordered brusquely. "I'm not in the goddamn mood to stand here and get another of your lectures about how my way of handling rule breakers is wrong."

"Because you know I am right," she retorted with a small sniff. "And that bashing in the skulls of those you feel have wronged you only serves to feed the void that is inside you."

"What I know is that I don't want your cute lil' ass raining on my parade with your save the world bullshit."

"I should be raining on your parade, Negan." The eyes she lifted to his were achingly, brutally sad. "You shouldn't be crowing over the fact that two people are dead. You should be lamenting over that and asking yourself if there isn't a better way to respond to situations like this."

Seeing those green eyes swirl with so much hurt, fear and misery felt worse than a kick to the balls. He found himself wanting to pull her into his arms, to promise that shit would be okay and that this was the worst of it. He rejected those feelings, same as he rejected that there was any bit of truth and logic to her words.

"I fucking said enough of that shit." Some of his pent-up frustration snapped out despite his efforts to keep it contained. "Them pricks were told they were going to pay and pay they did. End of subject. Understand?"

"Yes," Fin huffed. "But don't think that this argument is over." She sniffed and turned away from him. "I assure you it is not."

Oh, he had no hope of her being done roasting his nuts about his way of dealing with them sorry shits. It was an argument he had heard dozens of times before. Normally, he would let her have her goddamn say before patting her on her truly perfect ass and going his way. Tonight, though, he could see fatigue breaking through that icy mask, haunting her eyes and stealing what color was to her face. He was about to tell her to take her ass to bed when he spied the large bruise forming on her jaw. A quick inspection revealed other bruises creeping black over the skin of her right shoulder and along part of her upper back.

"Who the fuck did this?" He demanded, pointing to the bruise on her shoulder. "Who laid a fucking hand on you?"

Those gently sloping shoulders lifted in a faint shrug.

"I don't honestly know when or where I got that bruise."

"Bullshit, you know who the fuck it was that did this shit."

"No." Her voice was like tempered steel. And those eyes of hers went hard as stone. "I do not know who it was that did this. Now, drop it." A momentary pause. "Please."

He had no intention of letting this shit go, though. Someone had dared touch her. And he intended to find out who so he could introduce the sorry shit to Lucille. He took a step towards her, towering above her by a good ten inches. She angled her head back to look -  _glare_  would be more accurate - at him. Not that he gave a shit about her black looks.

"Who the fuck laid their goddamn hands on you?" He growled. "Tell me and I will make goddamn sure that the shithead pays for it."

"I have told you the truth. I don't know how or when I acquired these bruises. Might have happened as I was trying to evade the dozens of undead your men were releasing to trap those from Alexandria."

A slippery, slimy swirl of guilt merged with the ball of fire burning in his belly.  _Am I the sorry shit who got her hurt_? The only answer that came back was a cold and resounding  _yes_. His stomach clenched, and his throat tightened. He didn't enjoy hurting women. Killing men? Well, he could do that all day. Hurting women, though? It turned his stomach. And this woman, well, she tugged at him in a way he had not thought possible. Love her? No way. However, he couldn't deny he didn't feel something for Fin that went beyond just his deep and abiding desire to lose himself inside her. He just wasn't entirely sure what that something was.

"Goddamn it all, Fin." Frustration sizzled in every word. "I told your ass to stay at the Hilltop."

"I was at Hilltop," she told him with a roll of her eyes. "I—"

"Then what were you doing out today? I told you that I didn't want you caught up in this shit." His fingers traced the bruise on her shoulder. "Goddamn it, I didn't want you getting hurt."

"I know you didn't want me getting hurt." She heaved a sigh. "But what choice did I have? Another of the communities has a sick baby who needed medicine. Medicine," she added with a look at him that had guilt and annoyance doing the do-si-do in his gut, "they'd have if your morons didn't take it each month."

Negan closed his eyes and mentally counted. Yes, he appreciated her blunt honesty, intelligence, iron-will and independence...

... when she wasn't standing there with a myriad of bruises coloring that porcelain skin.

"Get the fuck in there," he said with as much patience as he could muster. "I'm going to send for Carson's ass. Have him check you over and make sure that you don't have anything broken."

She harrumphed and folded her arms across her chest. "And I told you I'll be fine."

"This shit's not up for debate."

"Why are you being such a pain in the ass about this?" She muttered crossly. "It's not like it is the first time I have gotten banged up in a fight."

_Well, it sure as shit is gonna be the last time_ , he decided as his teeth gnashed.  _Her days taking risks and chances are over._

"Get in there."

"No."

Because his voice wasn't as calm or as steady as he'd have liked, he clenched his teeth and spoke through them. "I said to get in there, Fin."

"And I said no."

"Fuck that no bullshit."

For a moment, a glimpse of temper snapped in those green depths. "Look—"

"I said get your ass in there." Fin bared her teeth. Negan shot her a warning look. "Don't even fucking think about it." He nudged her into the room. "Now, get your fucking ass in there. And don't even try any of that walking with the wind shit you like to pull."


	5. Chapter 5

Raya waited until Doc Carson and Negan left before making her escape. She headed the opposite way down the hall at a quick pace, her bare feet masking any sound as she moved among the shadows. Coming to the Sanctuary after what Negan had done to Rick and his people had not exactly been at the top of her list of activities for this morning, but there had been no other option once she realized Tarzan was missing.

A thorough investigation of the clearing by her and Robin had revealed he had not wandered off in a feverish haze as Rick suggested

The red arrowhead she found beside a small puddle of fresh blood told her who it was that had kidnapped him. The only thing she didn't know was  _why_ he had taken him.  _Why, Roy_? she silently asked the absent man as she trotted down one semi-dark corridor.

_Why did you kidnap Tarzan?_

Seeing Roy leading Tarzan into the Sanctuary while she was talking with Negan had hurt worse than any bullet or knife blade ever could. Her fingers curled, nails scraping against her palms as she struggled to keep a lid on the rage and fear bubbling just beneath her skin. She would give Roy a chance to explain himself. He deserved that much, she decided as she took a deep, calming breath. Roy had more than earned the right to justify what his reasons for abducting Daryl and bringing him to Negan were.

Surely, whatever his reasons, they justified and explained his actions.  _There must be a reason for why he brought Daryl here_ , she thought as she made her way over to a small gray door.  _He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have some reason for why_. If she didn't like what his reasoning for bringing Daryl here, well, she could just clean his clock.

 _I might wallop him, anyway._  A slight smile trembled upon her lips as she exited the Sanctuary.  _Roy deserves at least one smack to the back of his fool head for this_ , she decided as she paused by a row of motorcycles to listen for any Saviors who might be lurking about at this early morning hour.

The only person she didn't want to find her was Negan. Anyone else and she could easily talk her way around why she was out there. He wouldn't buy any of her excuses or reasons. He would escort her back to his room, tuck her back into bed and take a seat in one of those overstuffed chairs of his to make sure she kept her "cute lil' ass" put as Carson ordered.

She pondered Negan's complex nature as she perched on the seat of one bike to wait for Roy to join her. The man could be mercurial, callously rude and downright cruel one moment but charming, keenly intelligent and coolly logical the next. Oh, he was an asshole. She made no bones about that. However, there was more to the smart-mouthed bastard than he let on. Beneath that slippery smile, slicked back hair and leather jacket was a man who this world had done the most unforgivable thing too.

Raya knew what losing a loved one felt like. Being dumped in a pot of boiling water was kinder and gentler. A twinge of that never-quite-gone grief surfaced but she set it aside when the door she exited out of slammed open less than thirty seconds later and the man she came to see emerged like an enraged bull freed from his pen.

Raya almost imagined steam pouring from his nostrils and ears as he looked around with wild eyes. If not for how annoyed she was with him, she might have teased him about being like the bull from those Bugs Bunny cartoons.

"Are you outta your goddamned mind?" Roy Harper snarled as he stalked towards her. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

"One, I tend to still live here." She sent him a warning look when he scoffed. "And two, I wanted to give you five minutes to explain yourself before I decide whether or not to clean your clock."

"Don't you get how dangerous it is for you to be here right now?" He waved at her with impatient hands. "Especially in that of all things?"

Raya glanced down at the rather simple, but stylish dress she wore and then back at Roy. "And what, pray tell," she drawled, one dark brow lifting, "is wrong with my dress?"

"You seriously have to ask what is wrong with you wearing something that son of a bitch gave you?"

"It is just a dress, Roy."

"And marks you as being his."

Raya rolled her eyes and harrumphed.

"Negan is quite aware that he does not  _own_  me, Harper."

"Right," he scoffed. "I've seen how he treats you, Fe."

"So?" Raya said as patiently as she could. "I am not one of his wives."

She didn't add that she was above Negan's wives in terms of power and actual position. She had privileges his wives didn't. She slept in his bed because she wanted to sleep in his bed. She had a say in the things they needed to accomplish. She even was allowed some sway over the punishments he delivered to rule breakers.

_I'm raising an orphaned boy with him._

She was in love with him.

She didn't tell any of that to Roy. He wouldn't understand and would only threaten to call in the troops if she did.

"I don't care how you try to spin things in that head of yours." He glared at her. "The fact remains that he has you dressed in an outfit that marks you as his woman. And if Slade finds out about it then we will have even more problems than we already have to deal with."

"Do you know  _why_  Negan gave me this dress, Roy?"

"Yeah," he growled. "Because he wants people to know that you belong to him."

"Negan gave me this dress because it made him think of me when he saw it. He said the color reminded him of my eyes."

Roy scoffed. "Of course."

"And," she gritted. "He wanted me to have it because this world we live in? This cold, cruel and calculating little world?" It's ugly as hell. And he wanted me to have something pretty to counter that ugliness. Something feminine to remind me I am still a woman beneath it all. And bastard or not," she said in a voice that broke. "It was a really lovely compliment. It made me feel good about myself for a few minutes. Which," she added as she went to head back inside the building, "is exactly what he intended when he gave me the goddamn thing. And I did..." She cut a look at him from over one shoulder, saw him squirm a bit, but didn't take an ounce of mercy on him. "Until you made me feel cheap and dirty for accepting it."

...

Roy felt like a schmuck. No, he felt lower than a schmuck. Hurting her was the last thing he had intended to do when he came out to confront her about showing up at the Sanctuary after what happened. He hadn't meant to bust her chops about wearing some dumb dress. A piece of cloth was the least of their concerns.

 _That_ _one-eyed bastard has been in contact with Negan as recently as a day ago_. Still, he owed her an apology for having jumped down her throat about wearing that stupid dress. Especially since the only reason she was even at the Sanctuary was because of what  _he_  had done.

He felt a twinge in his gut as he scraped his fingers through his hair. Raya would have figured out he was the one who kidnapped the hunter sooner or later. She was too skilled a detective not to piece together the who, what, when, where, and how. She just wouldn't know the why. The answer to that question would have brought her to the Sanctuary so she could question him directly. It wasn't like he hadn't known he would have to explain his reasons for kidnapping the hunter. _I was just hoping she wouldn't figure it out for a few days_...

A few days wasn't an option and now he needed to face the music. He also needed to apologize for running his big mouth. Part of him wished he was six and could just be sent to his room without dinner. Or have his mouth washed out with soap. Neither was an option. Not with guilt, shame and the memory of the hurt on her face twisting his insides into pretzels.

"Dammit," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Fe."

"What?" She paused on the steps and glanced back at him. "What did you say?"

"I said I'm sorry." He ran a hand over the back of his head. "I didn't mean to..."

"Forget it," she interjected in a cool tone. "It's been a long night for all of us."

"That doesn't excuse me from having just been a complete asshole to you."

"No, it doesn't." Raya turned towards him. "And I know that you don't like me wearing this dress because you perceive it as him marking me as his, but I figured that coming here in this was far less likely to make him suspicious than if I showed up in some variant of my armor. He's not stupid, Roy. He's much more perceptive than we give him credit for." She heaved a soft sigh. "I am honestly surprised that he hasn't pieced together that I am not telling him everything about myself."

So was he. It was another reason her coming to the Sanctuary was getting more dangerous. Negan could not discover she was Fenix.

"Why didn't you just radio me to let me know you wanted to talk?"

"I did radio you, meathead," she drawled. "Both Robin and I tried to radio you after we discovered you were the reason for why Tarzan was suddenly missing."

Roy felt the last of his annoyance evaporate in the wake of hearing how she and Robin had tried to radio him before she came here. How could she have radioed and him not have heard it?  _Even if I didn't have my communicator on, I still have my... what the hell_? he wondered as he reached into the pocket where he normally stuck his backup walkie...

...only to find that said walkie was not there as he thought it was. He frowned as he tried to figure out just where he'd left the damned thing. Then it clicked: Hilltop. He must have forgotten it in his haste to get over to the clearing and help with doing…  _anything_.

He gave her a grin that edged towards sheepish.

"Sorry?"

Raya shook her head before muttering, "You better be thankful I like you, Harper." She shot him a quick, playful smirk then. "And considering how I am the only one out of the three dozen cops or so that you've befriended throughout the years..."

"Hey, I can't help it if cops have a hard-on for me."

"Well, if you weren't breaking any laws at the time when they ran into you..."

Roy rolled his eyes. He really didn't have the time or patience to stand here and trade quips with her about his  _admittedly_  lengthy rap sheet.

"I'm guessing you want me to explain about why I kidnapped Tarzan?" He saw her give a slight nod of her head. "And brought him here to the Sanctuary and not to the Bunker?"

"Just tell me why you brought him here." She lifted her eyes to his. "That's all I want to know at this point, Roy. Why  _here_."

His gut clenched at seeing the pain swirling in the depths of her eyes. He looked away and cleared his throat.

"He's safest here."

"He's safest here?" Surprised confusion laced her voice. "Is that what you said? He's safest here?"

"Yes." He nodded. "That's what I said."

"And how do you figure that, Roy?" she questioned as she began to pace in small, slow circles upon the step she stood. "How do you figure he is the safest in the Sanctuary of the man who just bludgeoned two of his friends to death? And psychologically traumatized the rest?"

"You have to trust me on this, Fe," he said quietly. "He is safest here."

"Negan is going to torture him, Roy."

"I know he will torture him."

She continued as if he hadn't even spoken.

"He will do everything in his power to break Daryl, to shift his allegiance from Rick, and make him his slave."

"Again," he tried, but she held a hand up to silence him. He consented to her request, not happily, but figured he owed her the chance to vent.

"He will beat him, starve him of food, humiliate him in ways that would make even the Joker proud." She looked at him with eyes that glowed with anger and fear. "And you think he is safest here?" She shook her head at his silent nod. "Why?" she demanded. "Why do you believe that Daryl is safest here? Why not in the Bunker?"

Why not with  _her_. It was what she wanted to say. He knew it and she knew it. Only, he was rational enough to see why Daryl couldn't go to the Bunker. He didn't have personal feelings involved like Raya did. His decisions weren't solely based on what  _he_  wanted, but what was best for everyone involved. Something he tried to impress upon Raya.

"Fe, as loyal as the Sirens are to you, as much as they'd bend over backward to do anything you asked, many of them have husbands and sons who are still in service to Negan. Daryl would be a bargaining chip for many of them. One they wouldn't be able to resist using no matter how much they respect and follow you."

"Don't you see that he can't take what Negan will do to him?" Her voice cracked. "He's not strong-"

"You have to believe that he is strong enough to take whatever Negan dishes at him."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why do I have to believe that? Huh?"

"Because you know that no matter what Negan will do to him," he calmly explained. "It won't be anything near what Slade Wilson will do to him if he gets his hands on him." Roy saw her face drain of color as realization dawned. Cold hard logic. That was how one dealt with a moody and emotionally overwrought Fenix. Give her irrefutable facts and point out unarguable truths. That was the way to get her to see why his decision, while not the greatest of ones, was for the best. "You know what'll happen if Slade Wilson ever manages to get his hands on him."

"Slade Wilson?" Her eyes narrowed into thin, green slits. "Slade Wilson has been here at the Sanctuary?"

Her tone was harsher, sharper than her regular one. It was throatier even than the rasp she had cultivated for her alter ego. Something dark and slippery he couldn't quite lay his fingers upon lurked beneath that tone.

And it had his belly curling into knots.

"No, it wasn't here at the Sanctuary."

"Where was it then?" She slowly eased down the stair towards him. "And how long ago since he was seen?"

Roy felt as if he had awoken a sleeping lioness. Her eyes were different. Greener. Sharper. Predatory. Raya had always been moody, unpredictable, and just a bit on the untamed side.  _This_ , he realized as a chill snaked his spine,  _this is Fenix in full hunt mode_. Gone was the benevolent, slightly sarcastic and mildly dangerous Doctor Kean. Gone was the adorably geeky little bookworm with the kind heart and shy smile.

This was the vigilante.

Roy imagined this was what a lioness looked like when she stalked her prey.

And he was gonna make damned certain  _he_  wasn't the monster she hunted.

"Slade met with Negan at that old church about ten miles back last week."

"Do you know what they might have discussed?"

"No," Roy admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Negan ordered me and the other men he brought with him to stay outside. Whatever it was that they discussed, though? He wasn't happy about it."

Raya made a low, speculative hum deep in her throat. "He was likely told not to kill any of the Alexandrian's."

That shot both of his eyebrows up to his hairline. "Why would Slade order him not to kill any of the Alexandrian's?" He shook his head. "That doesn't sound like Slade at all."

Not the Slade  _he_  knew anyway. No, the Slade he knew had absolutely no problem in killing whoever or whatever got in his way.

"Slade doesn't know who Rick and Daryl are. He only knows them as the sheriff and hunter."

"And?" Roy lifted a brow. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Slade needed the Alexandrian's alive until he had a chance to see if any of them were the sheriff or hunter." Those eyes shifted, pinned him. "That is why you kidnapped Daryl, isn't it? Why you brought him here to Negan? Because if Slade finds him, he can trade him for Rose?"

Roy told himself that he should have known she would deduce his motives for kidnapping Daryl all on her own. That keen intellect and carefully honed deductive skill were but two of the things that made the woman such a dangerous adversary. Suddenly, Roy found himself quite interested in seeing how Slade Wilson would react to meeting Fenix on the battlefield.

Something told him it was well worth the lecture he would surely get from Oliver and Tim once the battle was over.  _It is worth the lecture just to see her finally put Slade in his place._

Slade Wilson was an extremely dangerous man. Oliver thought he had put the asshole down once, only for him to return, far more vicious than he had been. However, Raya was not merely looking to stop the bad guy before he could destroy the world or her family.

She was trying to keep him from taking her daughter from her.

That made her the most formidable enemy.

 _Especially since she has one card left up her sleeve that Slade isn't counting on her using_...

Raya flipped something in her right hand to him. He caught it, saw it was a key and looked at her with a brow lifted.

"Take me to Alexandria before you head back to the Bunker," she said before she turned to stroll to the hidden gate that led to the outside of the Sanctuary. "And keep it below the speed limit. Don't need to flip the car over because you didn't see the walker standing in the middle of the road..." She glanced at him from over her shoulder, a smirk curving her lips. " _Again_."


	6. Chapter 6

**Gotham- the Past**

The gun belched out a burst of white-hot flame. Something whistled by his ear and then there was a sound, much like the one a wet mop made as it slapped upon tile. Puzzled by it, Bruce turned towards his father, his lips forming a request for an explanation of what the sound was.

The words died in his throat when he saw how Father was staring down at a large red stain blossoming across the ivory front of the dress shirt he wore that evening just for Mother.  _Where did that come from_? he wondered as he watched the stain become darker and larger with every second that ticked by.

A cursory inspection showed Bruce that the crimson splotch was coming from a small, black perforation in the middle of Father's chest. Confusion filled him, and a frown pulled at his brow as he tried to reason out how Father had acquired such a nasty looking hole.  _Did it happen when the gun went off_? He couldn't be sure. It seemed like it, though. It was what happened when John Wayne or James Cagney shot someone.

The old-time gangster and cowboy movies he so favored were nowhere as realistic as this, though. Blood on a movie or tv screen looked more like thick syrup than this crimson like ooze pouring out of his father. Despite his growing horror and revulsion, Bruce found himself intrigued. It was almost like this was a lesson his Father setup to teach him about various injuries and the proper way to tend them.

Distantly, he heard a scream, realized it was Mother, but he just couldn't take his eyes off that hole in his father's chest. His frown deepened as a hoarse rattle emitted from Father. That sounds entirely too real, he thought. Father's eyes widened with a mixture of shock, fear, and pain. His mouth formed soundless, inarticulate words.

Then he slumped, much like a puppet after his strings got released. If not for the blood staining the front of his shirt, Bruce would have thought his father was imitating one of those marionettes they had seen perform at the carnival last Halloween. Only, he knew that wasn't the case. Father wasn't a doll dumped on the wet cobblestone.

No, he was a battered and broken man who lay there in an ever-growing pool of red.

Father's arms and legs were akimbo, his brown eyes slowly glazed over, and his mouth worked to form his final mortal thoughts. Shocked disbelief crashed over Bruce in icy waves as a terrible truth dawned.

Father was  _dying_.

Mother let out another horrified scream. Bruce heard it over the loud roar filling his ears. He lifted eyes that felt as hot as the fires burning in many of the fireplaces across the city to his mother's wide ones. Silently, he begged her for an explanation for why this was done to Father but saw her gaze on the shadow monster moving towards her.

Every ripple of muscle reminded Bruce of a hungry wolf as it stalked its prey. Every word spoken came out sounding like the hungry snap of a pair of massive jaws. Mother gave a quick shake of her head and took a hesitant step backward, her hands held up in supplication, and her bone-white face wet with tears.

"Please..." Mother pleaded in a tremulous voice. "Please, leave us alone."

"After I get what I want." The shadow monster reached then for the strand of pearls fastened about her slender throat. "Now, gimme those damn-"

Mother pulled away from the man, a soft, "No…" falling from pale, trembling lips. "No, please."

The gun barked once more. Again, Bruce heard the wet mop slapping upon tile. This time, however, he knew what it meant. Helpless, Bruce could do nothing more than stand there and stare at the strange hole burned into Mother's chest. It was blackened around the edges just like Father's and weeping the same crimson tears.

The wet spread across the front of her dress in a pattern Bruce likened to a pair of wings. What color drained out of Mother's face. Her eyes, the same shade of blue as his, went wide with a deluge of shock, fear, and agony.

Then she started to fall backward.

Bruce's heart slammed against his ribcage and his breath wheezed out from between lips that felt like they were frozen together as the awful sight seared itself into his memory. The shadow monster curled his fingers around her pearl necklace, almost as if he hoped the pearlescent strand would force Mother to stay upright, but the delicate silver clasp broke and sent the orbs flying high into the night.

Over a dozen round spheres spilled past Bruce's face, rained down his chest, stomach, and legs. They sounded like ice landing in the bottom of an empty glass as they bounced, once, upon the bloodstained pavement. Bruce watched, horribly transfixed as a few rolled to a stop in the crimson puddle already forming beneath Mother and Father's bodies.

Bruce would live, all the rest of his life he would live with this image of his parents bleeding in the middle of an alley as the shadow monster who had done this to them circled around them like a vulture waiting to peck at their carcasses. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the man who had done this to them.

He wanted to understand why he had done this.

He searched the man's craggy face but saw nothing that explained why he felt he needed to hurt Mother and Father. All he saw in the hazel eyes staring back at him was emptiness. Not anger, not hatred, not fear, not anything. It was as if Bruce stared into the eyes of a robot. A mindless, emotionless, thoughtless machine. He desperately wanted to ask the man  _why_. Why did he follow them into this alley? Why did he single them out? Why did he fire that gun? Why didn't he just ask Father for money?

The questions never left his lips.

He just didn't have the energy to form, much less say them aloud. He was just too numb. Too stricken by fear. Too cowardly to do anything but stare at the man who had coldly, cruelly taken his parents from him. The man raised the still smoking pistol and aimed it at Bruce, but feet pounding the pavement and inaudible shouts as passersby became aware of what was happening jerked the man back to reality.

He blinked his eyes rapidly and then looked at Bruce as though he suddenly remembered where he was. He looked at what he had done to Mother and Father and went white as the antique tablecloth spread across the table in the Manor's formal dining room.

"So-sorry," he stammered before he spun on one heel and raced off into the darkness. Bruce just stood there, dazed, confused and knowing his life would never be the same. Then he heard a groan followed by his name.

"Bruce..." It was hardly a whisper. Bruce thought he imagined it until he heard it again. "Bruce."

"Father?"

"Co-come here, son."

On legs that felt like blocks of stone, he crept over to where his father lay, unmoving.

"Father?" He tried to keep his voice steady, but he was suddenly so cold his teeth chattered. He bent down until his face was close to Father's ashen one. "Father?"

"Do-don't be afraid." Father's lips trembled, struggled to curve into a reassuring smile. "I-it's gonna be okay, son. I pro-promise. It's gonna be okay."

Bruce knew it was a lie. Even though he had never seen anyone die up close and personally before, he was still able to recognize it. He knew death was imminent. There was a wet rasping sound. Father's pupils slowly fixed and dilated. It was like someone had turned the lights off. Then his body went limp. He thought he heard his father breathe out his name one last time.

Then he was gone.

Same as Mother was gone.

Bruce found himself all alone, facing a cold, cruel world he was nowhere near ready to face and having to deal with things he wasn't anywhere near mature enough to handle. He sunk to his knees, fingers curling into the bloodstained pearls as he stared at his parents' lifeless bodies.

Something stirred to life within him at that moment. He had no idea what it was, just that it was somehow connected to this night and what had just happened to his parents. The pressure built the longer he sat there, bubbling just beneath the grief and shock enveloping him in their sinewy arms. He knew he had to… absolutely  _had_  to keep whatever was swirling around inside of him in check.

The stress of everything mingled with the rampant emotions flowing through him until he thought he would burst at the seams from the pressure. Bruce did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that made sense at that moment.

He tossed his head back and howled his rage, his grief, his hurt to the night...

...

Bruce Wayne opened his eyes and, for a moment, allowed the nightmare masquerading as a memory to slowly fade from his mind. He had managed to forget his old life during the years he spent traveling the world, getting inside the criminal underbelly that operated in the various sections of the globe, seeing how the organizations were run, and learning the ways of bringing them down.

His focus had been on the training he received from each and every one of the sensei he specifically asked to train him. For nearly three-quarters of a decade, he gathered the knowledge and experience he knew would be necessary for his future as Gotham's silent guardian.

Gotham, its frivolous parties and sea of smiling faces, the jet-set watering holes he had chosen to frequent because it was expected of him, the college campuses he had gotten himself expelled from, he had managed to forget about all of it. He found himself happy for a time, living among the hardest skells of society, struggling every day to survive, and having only himself to rely upon when he found himself in some scrap or another.

Eventually, even his memories of his parents managed to fade into the darkest recesses of his mind. He could no longer recall what his father sounded like when he came down for breakfast. Or how his mother looked when she would sit and play the grand piano in the Manor's grand ballroom.

Oh, he could summon the memories if he forced himself to do so. He had learned he could call any memory if he truly desired to recall it. However, his memories did not ever invade his dreams. Save for the night when his parents lay amidst a sea of bloody pearls in the middle of a dirty alleyway because of a shadow monster with a gun.

Chill, as he told the jury his name was, would later claim he didn't really know why he killed Martha and Thomas Wayne. That memory, along with the hot bite of hate that accompanied it, never diminished. No matter how much he tried to make it. It was the one constant in his life next to the night he immersed himself in.

Realizing he was done with sleep, Bruce sat up in bed, comforted by the cool silkiness of his sheets against his clammy skin. He kicked the covers off, stood, and grasped hold of the wooden cane that Alfred thoughtfully left resting against his nightstand. His left leg, badly injured in a fall a year before protested every step he took. He ignored the pain, considered it his due for a career spent saving the innocent from the monsters trying to consume them with their madness.

In his bedroom window's reflection, he could see his face was gaunt and drawn. Dark circles haunted his eyes. Traces of gray could be seen in the dark hair at his temples. A rumpled silk dressing gown was draped over his shoulders. He looked nothing like the dashing and handsome playboy who once graced the society pages of every major newspaper in the world. Then again, who could look that way with the world consumed by chaos?

 _I thought we would have solved this virus by now_ , he thought as he stared out over the dark city.  _I thought things would be back to normal. I thought..._

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce glanced behind him to see Alfred framed in the doorway. Even in the faint glow coming from the hallway he could see the worry darkening the butler's brow. He smiled to himself as he slowly turned to face the older man.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"Are you all right?"

He nodded. "Just unable to sleep."

"Do you require something to help you sleep?"

"I'm fine," he quietly assured him. "Go on back to bed."

Not that Alfred had any intention of obeying his subtle request to leave him alone. No, that would have been much too simple. And if Bruce had learned anything about his longtime companion, erstwhile partner, and faithful co-conspirator, it was that he wasn't going to ever take the easy road.

"Are you sure? I can make a spot of tea if you would like."

Earl Grey was Alfred's go to cure-all for everything. If not for the nagging sensation presently clawing at him, he might have been amused.

"Tea is not going to help me figure out my present dilemma, Alfred."

"And what dilemma is that, sir?"

"The one asleep next door."

Alfred's eyebrows crept up a fraction of an inch. It was the only outward reaction he would allow himself. Nothing surprised the staid and proper butler. Bruce, as well as every one of his children, went out of their way to try to shock him. Always to no avail.  _Even Kai and Rose try to ruffle his feathers and it fails._

Thinking about his two uniquely different grandchildren caused a momentary twinge of wistfulness to roll through Bruce. He hadn't seen Kai or his little Rose in over a year. Not since he traveled to Virginia to check on them personally.  _I should go as soon as my leg is better_... he thought, then grimaced. He had been promising Alfred he would travel to Virginia to see them for the last six months now.

Something always came up to stop him from making the trip. Part of it was vanity. He didn't want them to see him walking with a cane.  _Raya and Rose will want to return home to help take care of me and I cannot allow that. I cannot allow them to come home and care for me when the world still needs them._

Not that his imp would agree with that logic. No, she would adamantly protest his decision and plot subterfuge with the rest of the family.  _And I'll cave in the end_ , he thought, a faint smile pulling at his lips.  _As I have all the other times she has gathered the troops together._

"You mean Miss Prince?" At Bruce's nod, Alfred frowned. "And why is Miss Prince a dilemma? I rather thought you enjoyed having her here."

"I do enjoy having Diana here," Bruce confirmed quietly. "My relationship with Diana is the only thing that has kept me from going stir-crazy all these many months that I have spent recovering from my injuries."

Alfred tilted his head slightly to the side as he considered what Bruce said.

"I am afraid I do not understand what the problem is, sir."

"That is the problem."

In the twilight, Bruce swore he saw a slight twinkle in those rheumy eyes. "I realize being happy is a shock to your system…" he paused. "But it is not an illness or injury you can make yourself get over."

Bruce refrained from snorting.

"You didn't hear what she said to me the other night, Alfred." He moved to take a seat on the bench in front of his bed. "You didn't see her looking at me..."

"Like a woman who loves and supports you? Who does not believe that your injury changes you in any way whatsoever? Or," he added with a pointed look, "makes you any less of a man?"

He should have known that Alfred would have seen and heard what had happened between him and Diana. He long had suspected the butler could be blind and deaf and still know everything.

"And all of that is problematic."

"Why?"

Bruce merely stared at Alfred.

"Diana is a woman who deserves more than a broken and bitter man..."

"Who has given everything he has to protect not only the city of Gotham from the sickness trying to infect it but the entire world?" Alfred's tone was curt. "A man who sent his own children out into the world to remind people feeling lost and abandoned that they are not alone? Not so long as there is still breath in the bodies of those who have dedicated their lives to ensuring their survival."

"I know what I did, Alfred." Bruce rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. "But that doesn't change that Diana deserves to..."

"Be with someone who thinks and believes as she does?" Alfred sat in a chair across from him and looked Bruce in the eyes. "Never forget that Miss Prince stands for the same things that you do."

"Even you know that when we want to win a war that we call upon Diana," Bruce remarked dryly. "She is far superior to all of us, Alfred."

"Indeed, sir." Alfred's lips lifted into a faint smile. "Which is what makes you more than evenly suited in both your personal and professional lives. You do not walk above or below the other. You do not see each other as being less or more than the other. You bring the best out of each other."

"I do not wish to become a burden to her, Alfred."

"It would seem that the only one who holds that opinion is you," Alfred stated calmly. "You are the one who has chosen to exile yourself away from the world and your family."

"It is not like I have had much of a choice in the matter, Alfred." Frustration sang in every syllable. "This leg of mine has not healed." He gripped his cane tightly. "It may never heal."

"It may not," the butler agreed with a nod. "But that does not prevent you from living. Or," he added with a small sniff that was eerily reminiscent of the one Raya used, "from still being an active member of this family."

"Dick is Batman now, Alfred."

And had been ever since his accident left him unable to walk without the aid of a cane or crutches. It hadn't been easy to pass the cape and cowl to him, but it had been for the best. The world needed Batman.  _And there is nobody better than Dick to take over that role_.

"Yes, Master Richard is Batman now," Alfred agreed. "And he makes an admirable replacement. However, he is not  _you_. He will never  _be_  you."

"He's far better than I ever was, Alfred."

Alfred adjusted the lapels of his robe before he replied.

"Your children still look to you to set the tone, Master Bruce. They always will look to you. Even after you are gone they will still look towards your example for how they should proceed. You're their father as much as you are their mentor and partner. You're an irreplaceable member of this family."

Bruce rose and limped to the window.

"I don't want them to become me, Alfred." Every word he spoke was another tear in his heart. "I want them to become more than I am. I want them to have more than I did. And," he said with a long sigh, "I want Dick, Tim and even Jason to find that balance I never could find between my public and private lives." He glanced back at the older man. "I want them to figure out ways of being both men and heroes."

"You have raised six remarkable children," Alfred said smartly. "You have taught them that there are consequences in this world and that nobody is above them. You have shown them how to not only protect and defend themselves from the monsters that are outside the Manor's walls but pushed them into showing others how they can survive, as well. Everything they are is because of what you taught them."

"They needed a parent more than they needed a mentor, Alfred." Bruce heaved another sigh. "Especially Jason. I couldn't see it at the time. I refused to let myself see just how much he needed me as his parent and not his mentor."

"Master Jason needed Bruce Wayne as much as he needed Batman." Alfred smiled softly. "Much like another of your children."

"You mean Raya."

"Miss Raya has always needed you as much as she did Batman. She still needs you, sir. She always will." That twinkle was back in his eyes. "No matter how old  _she_  gets or how infirm  _you_  get, she will still need you."

Bruce snorted a laugh.

"She has grown into her own, Alfred."

"Miss Raya may well have come into her own as a leader but that does not mean she does not still need you."

"Bane named her Fénix," Bruce said as he slowly turned towards him. "That's what she is, Alfred. The child born in darkness, consumed by the flame and who was reborn from her own ashes to bring hope back to a world that has none."

"Then may I suggest that you do what you taught her to do?"

Bruce glanced at him, instantly suspicious. "And what's that, Alfred?"

"You rise, Master Bruce." The ends of Alfred's lips curled. "You rise."


	7. Chapter 7

The elevator came to a stop with only the barest of sounds. Alfred stepped out into the vast cavern that made up the Batfamily's central base of operations. He made his way down the staircase, only barely hearing the soft chirps and flaps of wings as the cave's other inhabitants returned from their nightly jaunt.  _Must remember to refill the feeders_ , he thought as he ascended a set of short steps and found Master Richard, still partly dressed in the Batsuit, slouched in front of the main computer station.

Master Richard's eyes remained glued to the screen in front of him. In the glow cast from the monitor, his face was gray with exhaustion and a good dose of grief. Sympathy welled inside Alfred, as it always did when it came to a member of this family. However, he was honest enough to admit that he felt the most strongly for Master Richard. The young man had endured much in his life. Loss swirled around Master Richard as easily as the ends of the cape draped over his shoulders.

Now he had been thrust into the role he had long tried to avoid, not because of choice, but out of necessity. Making things more complicated was that  _Batman_  was having to deal with the usual assortment of criminal activity while contending with the remnants of infected still roaming around the city. There had been no time for Master Richard to figure out how to approach being the Dark Knight in this changing world, much less find a way to balance his new responsibilities with his ones as husband and father.

"Long night, Master Richard?"

Only silently did he add,  _Or should I say long day since you started your patrol before the sun even set_.

Batman patrolling during the day was not a common occurrence. The only other time Alfred had seen Batman work during the day had followed the death of Jason Todd at the hands of that diabolical fiend, The Joker. Then, the reason had been a father's overwhelming grief at the loss of his son. Now? He heaved a soft sigh. Now it was often a necessity for him to go out during the day.

"Every night is a long one, Alfred," Master Richard mumbled as he continued staring at the computer monitor. "Has been ever since things went straight to hell."

Alfred sent a quick look at the monitor to see what held Master Richard's attention. One brow winged up as he spied the map of the state of Virginia splashed across the screen.

"Are you checking to make sure that things are well?"

"Everything is fine," Master Richard uttered in a low, dark tone. "As far as I know, anyway."

A faint smile curved Alfred's lips.

"Meaning you do not know and worry that Robin and Red Robin have run into a spot of trouble, but are not being honest about it."

"I am not as paranoid as Bruce," Master Richard replied, his tone wry. He then made a face. "And if I ever do get as bad as him, I give you my full permission to do whatever is necessary to bring me back to my senses."

"I shall certainly do my very best," Alfred assured the younger man with a small smile. "This family certainly cannot handle another cynical and paranoid man."

A small smile graced Master Richard's face. "Don't let Bruce hear you say that."

"It is not as if he can disagree with the assessment."

"No, he cannot." Master Richard then cast a surreptitious glance at the tray Alfred held in front of him. "Please, tell me that is coffee I smell."

"It is." Alfred set the tray on top of a cabinet that was not covered by a mountain of papers, folders or books. "And some fresh-baked muffins and oranges from the tree that Master Damian planted before he was sent south with Miss Quinn."

"Alfred." Master Richard looked ridiculously close to tears as he slowly got up to pour himself a cup of coffee from the silver carafe. "You deserve sainthood for all you do for this family."

Alfred felt a real smile tremble upon his lips for the first time in weeks.

"Did Miss Raya not check in a few days ago?" he asked as he poured himself a cup of the fragrant brew. "Or was that Master Timothy?"

"It was Tim telling us that they were going silent because they suspected Slade Wilson had hacked into their communication system."

"So, you are sitting here and worrying yourself into a state and not trusting they will reach out to you should they find themselves in need of Batman."

"I'm sitting here and worrying myself into a state because Raya ordered them to go silent." Dick resumed his vigil in front of the computer. "And yes, it has me concerned. It has Barbara and Jason as concerned as I am." He shot a look at Alfred. "Jason is threatening to travel to Virginia if she doesn't send word that they are safe in the next day or two."

It was not, Alfred knew, an idle threat. Master Jason had wanted to travel south when communication with Miss Raya had been lost. Only logic and a carefully worded suggestion about how he should go and bring Master Richard and Miss Barbara home had changed Master Jason's plans. That ploy wouldn't work to keep the younger man in Gotham.  _Not this time, anyway_ , Alfred thought as he stirred cream into his coffee.

"Master Timothy or Damian will certainly reach out to..."

"No," Master Richard grumbled. "They wouldn't. They will follow her orders and maintain radio silence. Especially Damian. He would opt to handle Wilson himself rather than call for help."

"He is very much like Master Bruce in that regard."

_And like you_ , he added silently.

"And is being trained by the female equivalent of Bruce."

"Master Richard..." He set a hand upon the man's shoulder. "They will reach out to you if there is a need to do so."

Master Richard was silent. At first, Alfred thought his young master was just trying to come up with one of his typical wisecrack quips to cover up how upset he was by this radio silence. When Alfred felt the shoulder beneath his palm slump and saw that proud head fall forward, he knew this went well beyond one of Master Richard's dark and brooding mood. This man he loved as if he was his own was hurting. And he was hurting,  _badly_.

"Why radio silence, Alfred? That's what I can't figure out."

"I cannot be certain of why they have chosen this route," Alfred replied honestly. "However, if I was to try to figure out their decision, I would say this is their way of keeping Slade Wilson from gaining access to the Bunker."

"No, Alfred," Master Richard told him on a fractured breath. "There's more to it than that. I can feel it."

"And what do you think is the reason for why they have chosen radio silence?"

"They don't need me."

_My dear boy_... was the only thought that rolled through his mind.  _Is that what you think? That they don't need you_?

"Miss Raya and Masters, Timothy and Damian will always need you, Master Richard," he assured him gently. "Same as they will always need Master Bruce. You are the most important men in their lives."

"I'm not her Knight anymore." Master Richard raked his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. "I... dammit, Alfred." His fist slammed down upon the console. "She _asked_ me to come to Atlanta before the virus broke out and I told her I couldn't _._ " He shifted his head around to stare up at the butler with eyes that were deep, dark swirling pools of torture. "I was fixated on that case I was working and couldn't afford to leave Blüdhaven. _"_

"And Miss Raya understood that you were busy and said you could come down after you finished the case."

"And then the virus hit..."

"Neither of you knew that this virus was going to happen."

"But she hasn't forgiven me for not coming to Georgia when she asked, Alfie."

"Has she told you she has not forgiven you?"

"No." He heaved a long, weary sigh. "But I know that is why she doesn't ask me to come down to Virginia. She doesn't believe I will." His eyebrows lowered down over his nose. "Maybe I deserve it. If I..."

"Master Richard," Alfred cut in smartly. "Have you stopped to consider that why Miss Raya has not asked you to come to Virginia is because she knows that you have more than enough here in Gotham to worry about?"

"Perhaps," Master Richard allowed. "But Bruce..."

"Ordered her to make contact once a week to keep him abreast of what was happening down there," Alfred finished for him. "Yes, I am well aware of Master Bruce's orders. However, have you considered that things are very chaotic and Miss Raya would not want to ask you to come and help with a man as dangerous as Slade Wilson unless she was absolutely certain he was in the vicinity?"

"I've thought about how that could be the reason..." Master Richard admitted with a slight nod of his head. "But she knows better than that, Alfred. She knows I would fly to Virginia without any hesitation whatsoever."

"And maybe that is why she doesn't ask you to come down there."

"Because I would?" He sniffed. "Be just like the stubborn woman, actually."

"She knows you are needed here in Gotham."

Master Richard fell silent after that. Alfred turned to pour himself a cup of coffee from the carafe.

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Richard?"

"What am I supposed to do here?" He lifted his head to stare at the monitor. "I know she's in trouble. I can feel it."

"Be patient, Master Richard," he said. "Miss Raya will ask you to come to Virginia when the time is right."

"Maybe..."

He reached over to squeeze the young man's shoulder. "Endure, and have patience. All will turn out right in the end."

"Do you promise, Alfie?"

"I promise, Master Richard."

…

Bruce had grown up in Wayne Manor, in its original incarnation, at least, and so knew the layout of the upstairs landing almost as well as he did that of the labyrinthine tunnels below Gotham's streets. That the big house had undergone a few renovations since it had come into his hands was a bit of an understatement. His lips crooked up at the corners as he considered all the changes he had made to the Manor in the past twenty-five years.

It was more than simply carving out the extensive subterranean cave system below the Manor and turning it into a base of operations he could work from. The primary way for accessing the Batcave was still in the huge study downstairs. He had taken great pains to have the antique grandfather clock, a relic left by one of his ancestors, restored after the great earthquake that destroyed much of the Manor.

The clock hid a secret set of stairs that could only be accessed by setting the hands to 10:48, the time of his parents' death. However, he decided to add a secondary access in his upstairs study for those times when he needed to get to the Cave and quickly. Tapping a few certain keys on the old piano opened a panel that concealed a small elevator.

_An elevator that has seen much use since I had it installed_ , he thought as he paused in the middle of the hallway. Access to the Batcave wasn't the only thing he had upgraded over the years. Wayne Manor itself had also seen many upgrades. An electric-eye alarm-system controlled from a sliding panel in the library and large metallic plates beneath the manicured lawns that acted as giant tasers kept out all but the most intrepid intruders. He'd made additional changes to the house itself. He fortified the structure, turning it into a veritable fortress that could only be damaged by a direct hit by high-powered weapons.

Solar panels and a hydro-powered generator down in the Batcave had been the last two upgrades he managed to make to the Manor. Both had been a way to not only make sure that the house and Cave were furnished with environmentally friendly electricity but would help provide the rest of Gotham with a sustainable energy source, as well.  _Clark thought I was being paranoid when I had them installed. Said there was no need to make such radical additions_. He heaved a soft sigh.  _Guess they weren't so radical, were they, old chum_?

Not that Clark was there to see how necessary the additions had become. Nobody had seen Clark in more than two years. Some believed he had gone to one of the many other universes they had uncovered. Bruce knew that wasn't true. Clark Kent would sooner poison himself with kryptonite than turn his back on humanity. What had happened to him, though? It was the six-million-dollar question.  _I will find out_ , he thought as he continued down the hall towards Diana's set of rooms. He leaned heavily upon his cane as he went, favoring his leg even more than usual. It was more humiliation and frustration atop the pile.

His gaze shifted towards the open door leading to the sitting room between Raya and Dick's bedrooms. Was it his imagination or was the door slightly more ajar than it had been when he and Diana left the room earlier that evening? Nobody else besides Alfred was about at this hour. Diana, Barbara and her son, Richie were all in bed. Jason and Jim had not returned from their patrol shifts, and Dick was still down in the Cave. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

_So, who is in the sitting room_? He questioned as he slowly made his way over to the door.  _And how did they manage to get in without setting off the alarm_?

Well, he was certainly about to find out.

His lips peeled back in the first smile he had smiled in days.

…

The sitting room was exactly as she remembered it. Despite the urgency of her mission, she couldn't resist taking a moment to appreciate the exquisite decor. She did so love expensive things.  _Careful_ , she warned herself.  _Can't afford to dawdle. Not when I need to deliver this message_. A set of framed photos, a few with pictures that were slightly yellowed from age, occupied a place of honor upon a table. She recognized Martha and Thomas Wayne, tragically murdered in an alley over four decades ago. Another frame had a picture of a scowling boy with big blue eyes and a cowlick.

_Damian_ , she mused, as she reached out to pick up the picture.  _Bruce's youngest son. The latest to serve the world as Robin. Sent to Virginia to serve as an apprentice to the woman who was also trained by his father_. Other pictures occupied other positions of prestige. Each row was a reminder of how tight-knit a unit the Wayne family was.  _They prove that family does not begin with blood, but with love_ , she thought as she ran her finger across the gilded frames.

Finally, she moved on to the large mahogany writing desk against a far wall. Reaching into a pouch built into her skin-tight suit she retrieved the letter she was too secret into a special compartment built into the writing desk.

"What are you doing here?"

Startled, she spun around to see Bruce standing in the doorway. He looked quite unlike the dashing billionaire playboy she remembered. He was leaning heavily on a cane but still looked intimidating nonetheless. She found herself impressed, despite the fact she could easily outrun him if she chose. She couldn't remember the last time they had played a game of cat and mouse. A perverse desire to make him chase her invaded her, but she banked it.

"Selina?"

"Fenix sent me," she purred as she strolled towards him. "She asked me to leave a message for Nightwing." She paused in front of him and cocked her head to the side. "But he is not Nightwing anymore, is he?"

"He's not," Bruce confirmed. "He's Batman now."

"And why is that? Hm?"

Not that she couldn't figure the reason out for herself.

"Don't play coy, Selina. You can see for yourself why he is Batman."

She waved towards his leg. "When did it happen?" A pause. "And why did you not tell Fenix about it?"

"It happened a while ago. And I did not tell Fenix about it because I don't want her knowing about it." He stared at her for one long moment. In the depths of his eyes was a silent plea. "She is not to know about my injury or the fact that Dick is now Batman. Is that clear?"

And the reason for that was because the Fenix would race home to care for him and support her best friend in his new role.

"Crystal." She would debate whether she would honor her word once she got back to Virginia. "Care to tell me about how it happened?"

"Why don't you tell me about the message that Fenix sent to Nightwing?"

Selina lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. "It was just a request."

"A request?" One dark brow feathered up. "A request for what?"

"For him to look into the death of the Joker."

"Why?" Bruce slowly limped after her. "What's happened?"

Selina slowly wandered around the room as she debated whether she should break Fenix's confidence. The years spent loving each other, managing to work together as allies, and respecting each other despite their differences convinced her to tell him the truth.

"There has been a change in the infected."

"What kind of change?"

"Some of them have developed..." She grimaced, knowing her next words would not please him at all. "Well, some of them have developed a clown-like grin."

"A clown-like grin?"

She nodded as she paused in front of a painting of a Wayne ancestor. She glanced at him over one shoulder.

"A clown-like grin," she repeated softly. "Just like The Joker's."


	8. Chapter 8

"When did you start to notice there were changes occurring in the undead?"

Bruce asked the question as soon as everyone was gathered in the cave. The only missing members were Jason and Jim.

"Hm." Selina rolled her shoulders into a negligent shrug and sashayed over to the empty chair beside Dick. "I would have to say it was about four months ago."

Dick mumbled something unintelligible and ran a hand over his face. Bruce ignored him and kept his attention fixed upon Selina.  _She is prevaricating_ , he thought, eyes narrowing.  _Giving me partial answers and shrugging off the significance of this change as if it is nothing important._ His eyebrows lowered over the ridge of his nose.  _She's hiding something._

Or protecting someone.

And Bruce had a feeling he knew who the  _someone_  was.

"You didn't believe that them developing clown-like smiles merited any sort of investigation upon the part of the Justice League?" Diana questioned as she perched on the edge of his chair. "Why?"

"We didn't think it anything more than the last victims the Joker terrorized."

"A logical conclusion to make." Diana inclined her head to look at Bruce. "The clown left many victims in his wake. There are some still wandering Arkham Island as we speak."

"Yes," Bruce agreed with a slight nod. "I know there are still those infected by the Joker wandering Arkham. These," he pointed out, "are not in Gotham. They are in Virginia. It makes me question why they were not reported sooner."

"As Diana pointed out," Selina said. "We assumed the infected were people who managed to walk the distance from Gotham to Virginia. And given how other infected have come from similar distances..." She shrugged. "We didn't feel it was a significant enough change to merit an investigation."

"It was a significant enough change that it should have been reported." Bruce's voice went hard as tempered steel. "This information shouldn't have been kept from us, Selina. You know any change in the infected is to be reported immediately."

Selina took a moment to stir cream into a mug from which steam lazily wafted. When she finished, she set the spoon to the side of the cup and said again, "We didn't think it was significant enough to report it."

"What made you think that this was more than a few isolated victims of the Joker?" Dick leaned forward in his chair, a pensive expression on his face. "What changed?"

"And created a need finally to investigate that it could somehow be related to the Joker," Diana added with a glance at Dick. "These infected could still be the last victims he injected with his Joker Venom."

"They're not his last victims," Bruce stated as he continued watching Selina. "Are they? Something happened that finally made you realize that this was more than a few isolated infected making their way to Virginia."

"What makes you ask that?"

Bruce's jaw clenched. "Don't play coy with me."

Selina's eyes narrowed.

"What makes you think that I am?"

"You're being evasive, dismissive…"

"Joker has never done things simply." Bruce's heart contorted at the fatigue haunting his oldest son's face. It was something he understood all too well. "His plans are always more convoluted and complex. A group of severely decayed infected with clown-like expressions would barely even gain a second look from any of you. No, it would have to be something big for it to raise their awareness."

"You would be right," Selina confirmed with a nod. "The clown-like expressions weren't what finally tipped us off."

"What did?" A faint smile creased Dick's lips. "Something caused Raya enough alarm that she sent you to break into Wayne Manor and leave a note in our secret place. What was it?"

"Not so secret place," Bruce informed him wryly. "We all knew about it."

"Of course, you did." A speckle of amusement softened the bite of sarcasm in his tone. "But we're getting away from the topic." He leaned back in his chair. "What happened that caused Raya to send Selina here with a note asking me to investigate the Joker's death?"

Selina was silent for a few moments.  _Weighing her answer_ , Bruce deduced.  _Deciding how much to reveal and how much to keep secret_.

"It was more of a lot of things adding up," she finally said. "Then it was any one specific event."

"Such as?"

Selina folded her fingers around her cup as she sorted out the way to respond to Dick's question. Her slow, careful deliberation told Bruce louder than words that the explanation was not an easy one. Or one he would overly enjoy hearing for that matter.

"It was mostly how they didn't  _act_  like the other members of the infected."

"How did they act?" Diana got up from her perch to pour herself some coffee from the carafe that Alfred had thoughtfully refilled before situating himself in front of the Batcomputer. "What was different about their behavior that it finally caught her attention?"

Bruce had wondered that himself. Each of his children served a special role in not only his life but Batman's, as well. They filled the darkness surrounding him with light, held a distinctive part in the family hierarchy, and were an invaluable part of the team. However, where Dick was the best parts of himself, Jason the best technical planner, Tim the master detective, Cassandra the best in combat, and Damian the warrior, his imp was the enigmatologist. Raya loved puzzles of all kinds, be they mathematical, word or logic-oriented. She always looked for the connective element, the piece of the puzzle that completed the picture or explained why something was happening.  _And the Joker is a puzzle she has long attempted to solve_.

"These infected are not the mindless drones that we have dealt with for all these years." Selina stared pensively into her cup. "These newer infected seem like they are operating with more than just the basic brain functions that the rest of their members still seem to display. It's almost," she paused, considering her words. Finally, she said, her tone a mixture of worry and concern, "It's almost like they are not actually infected."

"So, these infected are not just wandering around aimlessly," Bruce murmured as he took the cup that Alfred passed to him. "And are not feeding on whatever crosses their path just because it is the only basic drive left to them."

"No." She heaved a sigh. "Raya says it is like they are a computer that has started to reboot. And from what I have seen?" She slowly nodded. "She's right."

The implications of the infected regaining their ability to form thoughts, plans, and other higher-order thinking processes were not lost on any of them. It was the worst news possible. And compounding that fact was the Joker potentially having been involved.  _Thankfully, he is no longer a concern_ , Bruce thought as he raised his mug and took a sip of the now tepid coffee. He and Gordon had watched as the Joker's body was consumed by the flames burning in the Crematorium.

"How does the Joker factor into this is what I don't understand," Diana said. "He's dead. How can he be involved?"

"Raya thinks his Venom has bound with the pathogen and altered its original composition." Selina indicated Dick with a wave of her hand. "She wanted you to see if you could get your hands on a sample of his toxin and test it against the sample she sent with her note."

Dick mumbled curses as Alfred and Diana heaved collective sighs. Bruce found himself nonplussed by this revelation. If he was honest - really honest - he would admit he had long suspected that something like this was going to happen. There was only one part that didn't make any sense.

"Why didn't Raya send word once there was a significant number of infected with these changes?"

"She didn't send word because she didn't think it was anything initially to report." Selina looked at him from over the rim of her cup. "None of us did, Bruce."

"She didn't send word because she's totally like him," Dick grumbled. "And holds things close to her chest until it becomes necessary for her to divulge what it is she knows."

Bruce cocked a look at the younger man.

"She is not like me," he drawled. "Not even slightly."

"Raya is absolutely like you," Diana lightly teased as she perched on the edge of his seat once again. "Both in terms of her obstinacy level and her ability to hold things close to her chest."

Bruce sent her a look from the corner of his eyes. "I wouldn't have held onto this detail. Not when it suggests the Joker might have had some plan in play while he was trying to infect me with this virus."

"That's why she did keep it close to her chest," Dick muttered. "It's the Joker. She'd avoid telling you about him until she was absolutely certain he was somehow involved."

A chill swept Bruce's spine as an awful truth dawned. "No," he said slowly. "She would tell me if she suspected he was merely involved in this. What she wouldn't tell me is if she suspected he was still alive." He looked at Selina. "That's it, isn't it? She suspects he is alive."

"Yes." Selina's eyes met Bruce's. "And he's in Virginia."

…

Raya had developed her own way of dealing with the guilt and grief that always filled her after a night spent dealing with the undead. She added a charm to a bracelet every time she granted mercy to a member of the walking dead. It was something she happened upon a short while after leaving Rick on the outskirts of Atlanta. The bands of infected had been more numerous the closer she and the kids got to Atlanta.

They had euthanized more undead than she liked or been comfortable with. Harder than putting them down was leaving them there to rot. People deserved better than becoming a pile of dusty bones. Respect and care should be given, honor given to the fallen, and a memorial erected so their sacrifice would always be remembered.

The answer for how she could assuage her emotions and pay her respects came to her after one skirmish. They had taken refuge in a small jewelry store to wait for the herd and a late summer storm to pass. Charms and the bracelets to hang them from had been among the debris littering the floor. The silver ballerina slippers and crowns, baseball bats and gloves, baby bottles and teddy bears hadn't been the sort of token she imagined using as memorials for all the infected she granted peace. And yet, they somehow seemed to make sense in the larger scheme of things.

One charm to represent every mother, father, son, daughter, princess, ballerina or baseball player lost.

One charm for all the times she put an arrow into the husk of what once had been a human being.

One charm for every time she broke Batman's one Golden Rule.

Those first few charms had been the hardest ones for her to slip onto the chain. Reconciling obeying what she had been taught from her first days as Batman's protégé against the stone-cold truth hadn't been easy. Accepting that euthanizing the infected was the kindest course of action had been a bitter pill for her to swallow. Not killing was what separated the members of her family from those men and women they brought to justice.

It was what identified them as being different from men the Joker, Scarecrow or even the leader of the Whisperers, Alpha. They were on the right side of the law. They fought for the innocent, defended the weak, and protected the helpless from the monsters lurking in the darkness.  _Despite our doing things that get around and sidestep the law a lot_ , she thought as she reached into the small leather pouch for another charm.

As she slid the tiny puppy on the chain, she realized how the charms had become less of a reminder of how many times she failed Batman as much as they simply became markers.

One token for a life lost to the virus unleashed upon the world.

One charm for someone innocent that didn't deserve the hand fate dealt them.

One set of wings for every new angel that Heaven gained.

Tim had told her that time was all she needed. With time came understanding and acceptance. She still struggled periodically with her feelings of guilt and self-loathing. She was only human, after all. However, she had largely managed to come to terms with the role that this new world expected her to play.

Silencing the voices hurling recriminations for having failed to uphold Batman's Golden Rule took a lot longer for her to get under control. Even then it had taken Kai pointing out how each one of the charms hanging from a chain was a reminder of what she lived and fought for to quiet the voices inside her head.

She was  _Fenix_.

She stood for hope, redemption, rebirth, and renewal.

She was the light that shined through the darkness. The reminder about how there was always another way. The voice that preached how the need for vengeance could always be tempered by compassion.

The last charm she pulled from the bag, a pair of wings, made for one hundred and twenty.  _A hundred and twenty charms,_ she thought as she slid the charm on the chain. How fitting was it that the charm was a pair of angel wings?  _Wings for another angel_. The thought used to make her incredibly sad. Now, she found comfort in the idea that there was a Heaven.

In a world so full of death and misery, it was nice to believe there was some quiet place waiting for them after they died.  _A place where_   _all those we lost in life will be waiting for us to join them when it is our time to leave this Earth_ , she mused as she set the bracelet inside the small wooden box Kai and Rose gave her for her last birthday. She then took the box and placed it in the back of the SUV she used when she drove to the Sanctuary.

"Are you sure about this?" Roy asked as he placed a black duffel bag beside the box. "I mean, Slade could be watching and waiting for you to make this kind of move."

Raya had been thinking the same thing. She glanced back at the Sanctuary, sucking on her lower lip as she contemplated if going to Rick was the right thing to do or not.  _I owe it to him_ , was the only thing that kept going through her mind. If she was being honest, she would admit that she wanted to go because she wanted to check on him.

Rick had suffered tremendously at the hands of Negan. Not only had he been forced to watch his friends bludgeoned to death, but he had almost been forced to cut his own son's arm off.  _And then had to watch as his son was physically manhandled and nearly assaulted by a class A creep_.

"I should be the one to explain to Rick about where Daryl is and why." She turned towards him. "And I need to tell him about Slade so that he can be ready if the one-eyed son of a bitch shows up there."

"What about the Joker? Are you going to explain about the very real possibility that the most dangerous man to ever exist could actually be here?"

Raya made a face. "As much as I'd like not to tell him about the Joker, I feel I ought to do so. Especially," she said with a sigh, "since that damn clown is why I left him."

_He wouldn't be in this mess if I had stayed_. She kept that thought to herself.

"You did what you thought was best given the circumstances."

"I know." She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. "That's why I should also be the one to go."

"Because you did what you thought best?"

"More because I could be required to send you or another member of the team to him with messages that I cannot bring him myself."

A smirk screwed up one corner of Roy's mouth.

"Don't wanna spring the family on him without giving the poor guy some sort of advanced warning about what to expect, huh?"

Raya snorted a laugh and closed the back door. "Would  _you_  want my family dropping in on you without some sort of advanced warning?"

"Red can drop in any time," he replied as he walked around to the driver's side. "So can Kai and Rose. They're never a problem."

"So,  _you_  say," she joked as she climbed into the vehicle. "Them two have gotten a lot more opinionated lately."

"Look at who their mother is."

"Hush up and drive me to Alexandria, Harper."

Roy chuckled and did as instructed.

…

Liam watched the SUV drive away through narrowed eyes. The man's chestnut colored hair was longer and had more than a few streaks of silver shot through it. His body was leaner, his skin no longer bearing that California tan, and there were stress lines around his eyes and his mouth. However, there was little doubt in Liam's mind that he wasn't looking at an alive and well Roy Harper.

_Well, now, this is an interesting turn of events_ , he thought.  _It's a very interesting turn of events, indeed_. A hum formed deep in his throat. It was the only sound save for the faint droning of the infected walking along the perimeter of the compound. Liam listened to the plaintive whines of the infected as he considered why the Red Arrow was here at the Sanctuary. Survival would be the most obvious reason.

Even the heroes had not been spared by this virus. When the plague spread like wildfire, heroes and many of their enemies had come together to respond to the threat. Many had gone out into the world to fight the hordes of infected while others searched for a way to cure them. In the end, it had not mattered if one was a hero, villain or innocent. None of them were safe from the infected. Or from the virus causing the infected.

Some of the heroes and former villains had died while in service. Others had given up. Some went on to form small encampments that focused on teaching people how to survive in this new world. And there were some, like Batman and his flock, who continued to keep watch, protecting people the best they could from those who would take advantage of them during these troubled times.

However, Liam suspected that the reason for why Harper was a member of Negan's crew was less about his own survival and more about the woman he left with.  _Could she be Fenix_? He wondered as he was joined by two other men on the landing. Her height and build were about right. The color of her hair and the creaminess of her skin were similar.  _If only I could have gotten a look at her eyes_ … He would know whether she was Fenix or not if she had the same shade of eyes.

"Was that her?" The man on his left, a dark-skinned man known simply as Tai, rumbled. He waved a large hand in the direction of the vehicle only barely visible in the distance. "Was that Fenix in that SUV?"

"I don't know," Liam replied softly. "I didn't see her eyes, so I can't confirm or deny whether it's Fenix or not."

"Green," was supplied by the man on his right. "Her eyes are green."

"You saw them, Dom?" A nod was given in response. "And they're green?" Another nod. "Did she also have a thin, jagged scar on her throat?"

"Yup," Dom confirmed as he searched his pockets for one of them cancer sticks he enjoyed sucking on. Liam thought it a vile, nasty habit, but kept his thoughts to himself. Dom outweighed him by five stone and topped him by about six inches. "Right where the boss said it would be." He plucked a pack of cigarettes from a pocket in his cargo pants, shook one out and stuck it between his lips before adding, "You know the man they brought in earlier?" Liam looked at him, one eyebrow lifted questioningly. "The one from the group who raided Negan's supply depot and killed his men?"

"What about him?"

"He's the hunter she was screwing down in Georgia."

"The one the boss wants us to bring him if found?"

"One and the same." Dom pulled a book of matches from a pocket in his vest. He yanked one and struck it before saying, "And you know what that means."

Liam knew exactly what it meant: they finally managed to track down Fenix.

"Go to the Foundry," he ordered Dom. "Tell the boss we've got the hunter."

"That's all you want me to tell him?" Dom blew out a puff of smoke. "That we got the hunter?"

"No. Tell him we've also found her. We've located Fenix. She's here at the Sanctuary."


	9. Chapter 9

Rick found himself jerking awake from one of the few snatches of sleep he managed to allow himself once he climbed between the sheets. He lay there for several minutes, a jumble of thoughts and emotions playing through his mind. He did his best to process what was real from what was the shit messing with his head but found the task difficult. Part of him hoped he would find himself back in that abandoned farmhouse he shared with Raya and not in the bedroom of the house he lived with Michonne and his kids. His hopes were quickly dashed as the familiar furnishings of his bedroom became visible.

_Was it all a dream?_ _Was what happened to Glenn and Abraham all in my head?_ Part of him prayed it was. He desperately wanted everything that happened with Negan to turn out as some sick, twisted warning about what could happen if he wasn't more cautious. His mind had played similar tricks on him before the Governor arrived at the prisons gates with a tank. And before Alexandria was overrun by a horde of walkers.

That wasn't the case this time, though. All he had to do to see that this wasn't a macabre warning was turn his head to where his bloodstained clothing was bunched up in the chair he tossed them in before crawling beneath the sheets.

Glenn, Abraham having their skulls caved in, Carl nearly getting his arm cut off by him, Daryl's kidnapping, it all happened.

Every violent, bloody moment of it.

And it was  _his_  fault.

More and more images from the events of the previous night came back to him. The man with the different colored eyes, the behemoth who dragged Carl towards the forest, and the shadow of a bat splashing across the blood-soaked earth before Raya – or  _Fenix_  as she called that side of her – landed in front of him. When the dust settled, and the armored men subdued, he had gone to her, clutching her in his arms in much the same way a man lost at sea did a floating piece of debris. She had smelled of blood, fresh earth and sweat and not that hauntingly unique fragrance that belonged to her and her alone.  _So, why am I smelling it? And so strongly?_

A sound disturbed the quiet. Rick's gut twisted.  _Judith_ , he thought as his pulse kicked.  _I need to get to Judith_. He made to get up but heard the sound again, closer this time. He froze and held his breath. Options were rather limited at that moment. His revolver and hatchet were over in the pile of bloody clothing in the chair. Even without reaching over to the other side of the bed he knew it was empty.

The door opened with a creak that grated on his already frayed nerves. Rick's breath came out as a tattered rasp as he waited for whoever or whatever out in the hall to make its move. Suddenly, there was a soft, plaintive whine, and then a snow-white dog that looked more like some type of hybrid version of a wolfhound than it did a normal dog jumped up on the bed. Rick could only lay there and stare at the dog with a mixture of relief and disbelief.

"Krypto?" He managed around his dry and swollen tongue as the dog whined and pawed at him with a foot that was easily the size of a baseball. "Is that you, boy?"

Krypto yipped before he laid down, resting his great big head on his stomach and thumping his tail in rapid succession atop the disheveled covers. The sound reminded Rick of gunfire. It was so goddamn familiar. A bit of normal inside the crazy fucked up world they lived. Tears pricked the back of his eyes as he placed a shaky hand on the dog's mammoth head and slowly stroked it. He took comfort and solace in the feel of that soft fur against his palm. Krypto let out a soft, contented sigh and closed his eyes.

"Where's your owner?" he asked him as he rubbed one silky ear between his fingers. "Didn't she come with you?"

Krypto replied with a decidedly undoglike snort and a roll of his chocolate-colored eyes. Rick imagined it was his way of calling him an idiot.  _Or a moronic asshole_.

"Nobody owns Krypto," he heard Raya say dryly. "And of course, I came with him. He wouldn't be here if I wasn't with him." A snort came from Krypto and was followed by a harrumph from her. "Yes, we know that I wouldn't be here without you, too."

Rick turned his head and saw her in the opening of his bedroom. That look, the first of her unmasked in almost three years, sliced him into pieces. This version of her looked a helluva lot different from the other ones he met. This was how he imagined she would have dressed before the world went completely to shit.

Her dress, the same shade of green as her eyes, fit her loosely and left her right arm and those long legs of hers bare from mid-thigh. This would be the society princess, he realized as a fresh set of memories stirred inside him. They were churned with fresh spurts of longing, need.  _Love_. He loved her in a way that was more affectionate, more protective than anything else. It was the same way he felt about Maggie and Carol.

"If you had worn that when we were traveling together," he joked with a faint smile. "I'd be a dead man now."

A smirk twisted one corner of her lips.

"What a way to go, though."

"I might still end up a dead man if Michonne sees you."

"She won't know I was here unless you tell her." She leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and tilted her head against the wood. "So, you'll get to live for a little while longer." Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. "If you keep your big mouth shut."

He snorted a laugh. "Funny."

"I try."

"You succeed." Krypto protested as he sat up but shifted over with only minor grumbling. "You also said you'd try to come in a few days. Did something happen to change your plans?"

_Are you in danger_? was what he wanted to ask. He knew it, she knew it, the dog with his head in his lap knew it. However, Rick didn't ask her if that was why she was there.  _She wouldn't give me a straight answer even if she was_.

"I wanted to see you, Rick." Simple honesty echoed in every word, shimmered in her eyes. "I've missed you."

Rick softened. As he always did when it came to this woman.

"I've missed you, too. Doesn't explain why you're here, though."

"I was worried about you," she confessed. "You had a pretty hard night last night."

He didn't want her getting involved in this shit between him and Negan.  _Not any more than she already is_ , he amended as Krypto nuzzled his ear deeper into his palm. He obliged the manipulative Wonderdog's request before asking the first of many questions racing through his messed up brain.

"How did you manage to get in here without anyone seeing you?"

"Come now, Rick," she chastised playfully. "You know I didn't use the conventional method of getting into your safe zone."

One eyebrow lifted. "You didn't come through the front gate?"

"More like I went  _under_  it."

He indicated her attire with one hand. "In that?"

"Yes." There was a sparkle in her eyes and a vague coating of amusement upon her face. "I shimmied under your walls in a dress."

"Why didn't you just knock on the front gate? I gave orders that if a woman with a dopey dog showed up to let her in."

"I know you left orders to let me and Krypto in if we came calling," she said as she slowly made her way towards the bed. "But I needed to enter Alexandria with as few eyes seeing me as possible."

Rick studied her as he pondered why she would need to keep coming here secret.  _Who is she trying to keep from discovering her presence here? And why_? Something told him that it wasn't someone he knew personally. He considered all the possibilities.  _Luthor? Rose's father?_

Or was it someone else, entirely?

Raya left him in that farmhouse because something spooked her. Something caused her to pack Kai and Rose into the Bronco and leave him. He didn't know who that person was, but it didn't matter. They'd have to go through him if they wanted to get at her or her family.

_I still have my promise to Bane to keep_ , he thought as Raya sat on the bed and reached out to scratch Krypto behind his ear.  _I won't fail her as I did Glenn and Abraham. I will keep her and those children safe._

_No matter what._

...

The expression on Rick's face tore thin slits into her already bleeding heart. For a full minute, she studied it. She committed his face to memory years ago. It was still tanned, with faint lines fanning out from the corners of blue, blue eyes. His firm jaw was concealed by a thick beard liberally streaked with gray. His brow was covered by a shock of sweat-soaked hair a rich shade of chestnut mixed with swatches of silver.

His face was leaner than she remembered it, with a long, straight nose, and a mouth that smiled easily, but far less often than it did from the looks of it. Rick might have suffered greatly since their parting and had clearly lost his way, but he wasn't gone. Not completely. He could still be redeemed.

Same as Negan.

The years and this world had not been kind to him. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, attesting to many sleepless nights, and the strain of being under constant stress. When she entered the bedroom after the warrior woman left the house, she found Rick thrashing about in bed, locked in the grips of some horrific nightmare and unable to wake himself from it.

It hadn't taken many guesses to figure out what he was dreaming about. She had done the only thing she could by gently steering his dreams to something more pleasant.  _Always remember when_ , she told him as Krypto stretched his body across Rick's legs and laid his head in her lap.  _It's what gets us through the bad times_.

"Who are you trying to avoid?"

Somehow, she had forgotten that he liked to focus on everyone else's problems but his own.  _Well, not this time_ , she decided with a small sniff. This time he had to worry about himself before he could take on anyone else's problems.

"Rick..."

"Is it that Luthor fella you were avoiding in Georgia? Rose's father? Someone else? Dammit, Raya, tell me. They'll—"

"No." She covered his hand with her own. "Not happening. Not this time."

"Not happening?" A quizzical look crossed his face. "What's not happening?"

"You using me as a way of ignoring your own pain and grief." She slid her fingers between his and squeezed. Silent support and gentle comfort. "You can't do that this time, Rick. You gotta handle your problems before you can focus on helping me or anyone else."

"Why?" He didn't growl it. No, Rick just sounded utterly exhausted. "Huh? Why can't I focus on you and whoever it is that you're trying to keep from finding out you are here?"

Raya tamped down the snap of annoyance that burst to life inside her at his words. He didn't mean anything by it, she knew he didn't. However, she couldn't help feeling as she did. She was a leader of her own group, a skilled and trained crime fighter, and mom to two and a half teenagers. She had learned how to balance her own needs against those of everyone else. Tim, if he was there, would disagree and say it was less about her having found balance and more she liked micromanaging every little thing.

"Well?" He demanded when she didn't reply to his question. "Are you going to answer me?"

"I don't want Rose's father finding out I am here," she informed him brusquely. "Okay?"

"Rose's father." He frowned. "You mean Slade Wilson?" She nodded. "That's who you are trying to keep from seeing you here in Alexandria?"

"He's one person I don't want seeing me here, yes."

"Why?"

"Because he will come after you."

Rick snorted at that.

"Let him."

She frowned.

"He will kill you, Rick."

"He can try."

She harrumphed.

"Slade Wilson  _doesn't_  try."

"Others have tried to kill me and failed," he pointed out. "I've managed to get this far without dying so I must be doing something right."

"You're not omnipotent, though."

"I know I'm not." Against hers, his fingers trembled. More from exhaustion than anything else. She ran her thumb across his knuckles anyway. Subtly soothing him as she had when they were driving along a long stretch of Georgia highway in search of a safe place to stay. "But I have faced plenty of men who have wanted to kill me and the people with me."

"Yes, well, I also don't want Negan finding out I am here, okay?" She heaved a sigh. "He has enough power over you without giving him more."

"Negan?" His eyes narrowed into thin slits. "You're a member of that asshole's group?"

She snorted. "Of course not."

"Then how do you know Negan?" Suspicion, doubt and much more coated every word. "What is the connection between the two of you?"

Was she loyal to him or Negan? That was what he really wanted to ask her. She knew it, and Rick knew it. He didn't, though. Raya suspected he didn't because he feared the answer. That, more than anything, hurt her the most. Even after everything they had gone through, all the things they shared, he still doubted her allegiance to him. She swallowed the bitterness, buried it along with all the other emotions she kept locked inside her heart. He had a right to his feelings. Time had changed them both.  _Him a little more than me..._

"I told you this world was going to ask a lot of you. I warned you it would make you do unspeakable things if you let it. I even cautioned you about making the right decisions because actions having consequences. The only way to survive, I said, was by not letting the world win. Do you remember me telling you that?"

"Yes." His fingers tightened on hers. "That doesn't explain your connection to Negan, though. What is it?"

_Moody, stubborn ass man_...

"It's complicated..." she said finally.

"Make it uncomplicated."

She rolled her eyes. "You have to understand..."

"I'm trying," he cut in. "You keep beatin' about the bush. Now, tell me what your connection to Negan is."

"Technically..." She grimaced. "We're involved."

"Involved, how?"

Silently, she wondered,  _what is more than wife but less than queen?_ She settled for what she felt was closest to the truth.

"I provide goods and services for his people."

"Meaning you work for him."

"More like I operate as his keeper."

One eyebrow shot up at that.

"And when did this start?"

"About a year and a half ago."

"Why?"

"There were some women who belonged to Negan's group that started turning up dead." She reached out to scratch behind Krypto's ear. "I offered my services to find out why."

"Dying?" He cocked his head. "Infected?"

"No." She shook her head as a plethora of memories assaulted her. "They weren't infected."

"Then what do you mean by dead?"

"I mean dead as in they were murdered dead."

"Given how Negan likes to-"

She cut him off before he could finish that sentence.

"These women were beaten, raped and strangled, Rick."

"Again-"

"Negan is many things, but he's not a rapist." She reached out and brushed his hair from his face. "He doesn't raise a hand physically to a woman. And he doesn't allow it among his men, either. Any who are caught raping or abusing a woman get introduced to Lucille or the iron."

"He sure looked like he was going to introduce Michonne, Maggie, Sasha, and Rosita to that damn bat of his."

"Never," she stated firmly. "He never would have used Lucille on them."

"How do you know that for sure?" Krypto issued a low growl at Rick's harsh tone. He instantly softened it, but only a smidge. "Huh? How do you know he wouldn't have used Lucille on them?"

They were entering into territory that she wasn't ready to discuss with him. A sound in the hall bought her a few seconds to debate what to tell him without revealing more than she was willing to share.

"I have gotten to know Negan during the time I have been undercover in his group," she settled on finally. "I know he wouldn't have picked any of them. It's not the way he operates."

"Why are you still undercover in his operation?"

"Because I am keeping tabs on Slade by staying close to Negan."

His other eyebrow winged up at that. "Slade works for Negan?"

"More like the other way around."

"He works for Slade."

"He hired Negan to help with finding me and Rose." Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "He just didn't count on the fact that I would be ballsy enough to go undercover in Negan's operations to keep an eye on him."

_Or that I would end up falling in love with the hypersexual despot_. She didn't tell Rick that for obvious reasons.

"Does Negan know?"

"Does he know I am Fenix?" At his nod, she shook her head. "No."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"It really is not any of your business if I am or not," she replied stiffly. "You're not my fathers or brothers. I don't answer to you."

"Are you one of his wives?" He persisted. "Huh?"

"No." She didn't growl it. Truth was she was simply too exhausted. "I'm not one of his wives."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Rick..."

"Why didn't you stop him and those sons of bitches who follow him?" A muscle ticked in his jaw. It was the only clue she had about how tight a control he was keeping on his emotions. "Surely you knew what he planned for us?"

This was the question she anticipated having to answer once they were alone.

"Rick, there are things that I-"

" _Why_ , goddamn it?" His eyes pleaded with her to make him understand how she could have allowed two of his people to end up as batting practice. "Just tell me why."

"Because I couldn't stop him." She looked down at their joined hands. "Not this time."

He scoffed. "I don't believe that." Her head snapped up. A denial formed on her lips, but he spoke before she could get it out. "I don't believe it one damn bit."

Raya didn't bother to mask her annoyance with him now.

"Well, I don't care what you believe. It's the truth." She pulled her hand from his and got to her feet. "I couldn't stop him, Rick. I tried. I begged him to show mercy. He refused. I asked him to let me handle it. Again he refused. Rules were broken and he needed to demonstrate what happens when they are."

"You knew and did nothing."

"I knew it was coming and did everything I could to stop it."

"Right."

Her own temper sparked then.

"Until you pulled your boneheaded stunt at that satellite depot, I had Negan under control."

"Bullshit."

"It had been months since anybody was fed to Lucille."

"Which..."

"Wouldn't have happened this time had  _you_  not royally pissed him off by killing over two dozen of his men asleep in their beds."

"I was trying to help free the people at Hilltop from him and make a deal that would benefit us here in Alexandria."

"No, what you came up with was a premeditated plan for murder with the goal of gaining Hilltop's supply payment for yourself."

"Ray—"

"You and those with you went in with one plan in mind: to kill everybody inside that depot regardless of guilt."

"Raya..."

"You're a murderer, Rick." Bitterness edged her tone. "Just like you accuse him of being."


	10. Chapter 10

Rick had anticipated that she'd be upset about the situation with Negan. He told himself he could deal with that. What happened to Glenn and Abraham was his fault. He took full responsibility for their deaths. He even owned what happened at that Savior outpost. It was  _his_  plan and  _he_  was the one who led the charge. He had done many things he wasn't proud of since she left him in that farmhouse. He'd do them all again if he had too.

He knew he could explain each and every one of his choices. Raya was a reasonable woman. She'd understand he hadn't any other options available when he made his decisions. She knew this world demanded split-second calls. That it required them to act in the heat of the moment. How could she not understand?

She spent her entire career as a cop — and as Fenix — making decisions that nobody else wanted to make. She, as well as those she worked with, fought the fights others were too afraid of. She did whatever was necessary to make sure people didn't end up hurt or killed. She struck with the ferocity of a lioness before he could get the first words passed his lips.

"The men you want me to avenge were co-conspirators who aided you in the commission of a crime." Acidic honey dripped from her tongue. "They're just as guilty as you. And they'd have received the same punishment as you had I or any member of my family been the one to hand out judgment."

"Raya—"

"No, Rick." She folded her arms across her chest. "You can't talk your way out of this. Not with me. I was a cop, same as you. I upheld the same laws that you once did. Laws," she added with a pointed look, "that I continue to uphold to the best of my ability so that there is some sort of civilization inside this hellhole we live in."

Every word burned another hole in his already bleeding heart. How could he argue with that? Murder was murder. No matter how justified he felt in his actions, the facts all came back with the same conclusion: they murdered those men.

"Raya..." he began but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"Had Negan let me handle things as I wanted to handle them, you and all those who were with you at that satellite depot would be sitting in the prison that I have and waiting to face judgment from the tribunal I'd have called to settle the matter."

A tribunal that no doubt would have included the very two men who instilled such a strong moral compass inside her: Batman and Gotham City Police Commissioner, Jim Gordon.

"What about what Negan did? Huh?" He demanded. "He  _murdered_  Glenn and Abraham right in front of us."

"Yes, he did," she agreed with a nod. "And before you ask, no, I do not agree with what he did. I find the entire matter utterly deplorable. People died and for what? So you could take over as the Hilltop's overlord? Or so he could wave his bat around and act like the King of the Apocalypse?" She sniffed. "Wow. You both really gained a lot here."

Rick felt himself bristle at her icy tone.

"They died because he's a goddamn lunatic."

"No, they died because of your actions at that satellite depot, Rick."

"And because he's a goddamn psychopath."

"Who was acting in accordance with tribal law."

"Tribal law?" He stared incredulously at her. "Are you fucking serious?"

"I'm very serious."

"How the hell do you figure that this was tribal law?"

"By its definition." She sent him a look that would have melted ice cubes when he scoffed. "Unless you've forgotten that along with your morals?"

"Just remind me what it is," he snapped.

"Tribal law is what applies when there's an absence of a governing authority to uphold the norms and laws of society."

"And that means what, exactly?"

"That a tribal authority is called upon to decide a civil or criminal matter. In this case, the tribal authority being Negan and his chosen manner of handling the matter to use Lucille."

"So?"

"So, it means Negan was justified in what he did because he was acting in accordance with tribal law."

"How?" Temper sizzled in every syllable. "Huh? How was he justified in what he did?"

"You attacked his people," she stated as he stared at her incredulously. "As the governing authority of the Saviors, it was up to him to seek justice for those you and your people killed in that satellite depot."

Logic had always been this woman's preferred, and admittedly, most powerful weapon. She wielded it with the same amount of grace and finesse that Michonne did her sword. As much as he wanted to deny, to disagree with her, he couldn't. She was right. As hard as it was to hear, to accept, it was the truth. No matter how justified they might feel in what they did, it was murder, plain and simple.  _And that made Negan the commanding authority to demand justice for what we did._ Still, a part of him couldn't help but feel betrayed at her siding with the son-of-a-bitch.

"How can you stand there and defend him?" He bit the question out from between clenched teeth. "How can you justify what he did and say it was okay but that what we did was wrong?"

"In the same way that I will stand in front of him and defend  _you:_ with facts. And the facts," she added as he sputtered stupidly, "are that neither of you is right in what you did. You both murdered people. And why did you murder those people? For nothing less than pride, ego and your own selfish purposes."

"He's the one left to run around and do whatever the hell he wants."

"If I punish him, I have to punish you. And Rick..." She shook her head. "I don't want to punish you."

"What is it that you want then?"

"I want to save you."

That took the wind out of his sails. Saving him wasn't even on the list of things he figured she'd say. It should have been, though, he realized. Saving people was what this woman did.  _Even at the expense of herself_. Rick studied her, a plethora of questions tumbling around inside his head. Who was reminding her to eat? Or badgering her into laying down and getting some sleep? Was there somebody stopping her from wading into a walker-infested building as if she didn't have a damned care in the world?

Rick had a feeling that the answer to those questions was a name he didn't especially want to hear.  _It can't be Negan taking care of her. It just can't be. That asshole doesn't give a shit about anybody but himself._ As he thought it, though, something told him he was wrong. There was more between Raya and Negan than she was admitting. How to get the truth out of her? He didn't have a clue. The woman was like Fort Knox. Nobody got inside her mental vault unless she allowed them.  _And she's made it clear she doesn't want to discuss whatever her relationship with Negan is_.

Not that he didn't have a damn good clue about what their relationship was. He just couldn't believe it was true.  _She can't be involved with that asshole_ , he thought as he ran a hand over his face. The thick bristles of his beard slid against his callused fingers and palm. Rick cringed as the rasping sound filled the silence. It was another reminder of how far he had fallen from the tree. He used to shave religiously. Growing a beard was something he was only allowed to do when he was on vacation.  _Now look at me_ , he thought, grimacing.  _I'm becoming a shaggy dog_.

"I know I can't begin to understand what you've gone through since I left you in that farmhouse," he heard her say. "I know it had to be bad for it to break that moral fiber you had."

"We've done the worst sorts of things to survive," he said quietly. "They were what we needed to do at the time. I regret what we did but I don't apologize for doing it." He set a hand on Krypto's head. "The choice was either death or survival. I choose survival. I hope you can understand that."

"I do." She gave a slight nod. "Believe me, I do. However, I can't help but feel that some of this is my fault."

"Your fault?" One brow tilted. "How?"

"If I hadn't allowed my fear to overcome me," she explained as she began to pace in front of the bed, "if I had stayed with you and not ran away, I would have stopped you from going to the dark side."

Hearing her blame herself for his having gone off the deep end moralistically pissed him off. He would have jumped from the bed and confronted her about it, but the mammoth dog snoring in his lap prevented him from moving. He contented himself by shooting her a heated look and talking in the same cool tones she did.

"Yes, I've done things to survive. To see my family, survive. We have made it this far because we have done those things."

"Yes." She nodded. "And you wouldn't have had to do any of those things had I been there to show you there were ways that didn't involve murdering people asleep in their beds."

"You don't know that."

"I don't?" She sniffed as she turned to pace towards the dresser. "I have no human lives on my hands and lead a group three times the size of yours. My people do not kill the living. We help them." She sent a look over one shoulder. "Even if they don't always deserve it."

"Yes, but..."

"Rick, we both know I would have told you how wrong attacking that depot was, that there was another way to go about acquiring the supplies we needed and that we could have worked out a trade agreement with Hilltop that didn't involve us becoming murderers."

 _Truth_ , Rick decided as he swallowed the huge helping of crow she shoved in his mouth,  _tasted foul._

"Morgan tried to say a lot of those things," he admitted, grimacing. "I didn't listen to him."

 _And I should have_ , he added silently. Glenn and Abraham would be alive if he had. Daryl would be home.  _And we wouldn't be under the thumb of a ball bat wielding asshole._

"He didn't say those things well enough then." Raya folded her arms across her chest. "Because I wouldn't have tried." She sent him a look full of feminine superiority. "I would have succeeded."

It wasn't arrogance. It was confidence. In herself and in her abilities. After seeing how she handled herself in that fight with Askalov and his men, he had no doubt she couldn't do exactly as promised.

"You'd have knocked me on my ass if I refused to listen."

"Well..." Her shoulders lifted into a faint shrug. "If you decided on being your usual stubborn self then, yes, I'd have knocked your ass unconscious." Her lips trembled. "And I'd have tossed it in some deep, dark cellar until you were ready to discuss things reasonably and rationally."

"You mean until I agreed to see things your way."

"Considering how I am always right..."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course, you are."

"See?" She teased. "Was that so hard to admit?"

His lips crooked upwards as the tension in his belly eased.

"You like feedin' me humble pie, don't you?"

She harrumphed. "You have earned every bit of that pie."

"Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah, I have." He patted the bed. "Will you finally tell me why you're here? I know it can't be to break my balls."

"No," she agreed as she again took a seat beside him. "No, I didn't come here just for that. Though I gotta admit..." There was a speckle of humor in her voice, on her face. "It feels good to bust your balls."

"Could you go and break Negan's instead?"

"I do." She smiled as Krypto started to snore. "It's why he likes me."

"Because you bust his balls?"

"That, and because I don't need him to protect me from the monsters in the dark." She reached out and set her hand on his. "I'm what terrorizes those monsters." Her fingers trembled against his. "Well, most of them anyway."

Most of her temper had drained away. Fatigue was breaking through to haunt her face. The large bruise darkening her jaw stood out like a huge black blotch against the pallor of her skin. Rick saw other bruises forming on the exposed skin of her right shoulder. Anger simmered in his belly at seeing her flesh marred by such ugliness. It quickly turned to guilt as a voice inside him told he was to blame for her injuries. He went to apologize but blurted out the question that had plagued him since he woke up to find her and her kids gone, instead.

"Why did you leave me in that farmhouse?"

"Rick..."

"Just tell me why."

She sighed, looked down, muttered. "Because."

"Because, why?"

"Because..." A pensive frown darkened her brow. "Because I was afraid that if someone like Bane could end up discovering my location that there were others, far, far worse than him, who also could find me."

"So? We woulda handled them just like we handled them assholes Luthor sent."

"Luthor's men," she said darkly. "Men like Slade or even Negan? As terrible as they are, as violent, they are nothing compared to who I feared finding us."

Anxiety and a healthy dose of dread curdled in his belly at her tone. Something told him he didn't want to know who she thought was worse than Negan. Nobody was worse than Negan in his opinion. Not even Gareth and his group of cannibals measured up to Negan. However, he couldn't contain the small kernel of curiosity tumbling around inside him.

"Who?"

The things that burst into life on her face chilled Rick to the core of his being. It went beyond anger and hatred. And when she spoke, the tone she used was the one she used when she shifted to her other side.

"The Joker."

Rick frowned. "The Joker? But isn't he..."

"A comic book character?"

He grimaced. "Yeah, still getting accustomed to the idea that superheroes are real."

Her face softened. "Rick, superheroes have always existed." Her fingers curled around his. "Men like you, my uncle, those who served in our armed forces, firefighters... you were the real superheroes. You put your lives on the line every time you left your houses."

"I didn't have to worry about bad guys with names like the Joker."

"No, you just had to worry about everyday assholes with guns."

He sent a wry look at the small scar that remained from the asshole who shot him and put him in a coma.

"Don't have to remind me about that."

"The wound healed nicely from the looks of it."

"Only because of you and that goop you smeared on it."

"That goop kept you from developing an infection."

"No," he said. "That was because of you and your badgering."

Raya harrumphed. "I do not badger."

His lips kicked up at the corners.

"You bullied and badger me about it the entire time we were together."

She rolled her eyes. "Only because someone had too."

"And that someone just had to be you."

"Again," she teased. "Since I am always right..."

"Of course, you are."

"See?" Her dimples winked. "Getting easier the more that you say it."

Rick snorted a laugh. "You're just enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Always a tingle when men agree with me."

 _Her guard is down_ , he realized.  _Now is a good time to try to get some answers from her_. It was a tactic he learned while they traveled together. He just had to phrase his questions innocuously enough to not push those barriers back up.

"How does Negan put up with you?"

She made a face. "He usually pats me on my ass and then goes does whatever he wants just to prove he was right and I was wrong." She sent him a long look from beneath lowered lashes. "Dirty move, Sheriff."

"What?"

"Slipping a question in there about Negan." She wagged a finger at him. "Tsk Tsk."

"You won't answer me otherwise."

Her face sobered.

"Maybe because you're not ready to hear the answers I'd give, Rick."

"Maybe I already know."

"Then why ask?" She tried to slide her fingers from his, but he tightened his hold. "Let me go."

"Just tell me why."

"You wouldn't understand, Rick."

"Try me."

She hesitated.

"Rick, it's complicated..."

"Of all the men out there that you could choose, why him?" The look he gave her was imploring. "Just answer me that. Why him for chrissakes."

She was silent as she deliberated the best way to answer his question. Rick waited, knowing she'd either answer him or tell him to mind his business. Finally, she lifted eyes haunted by thousands of memories to his.

"Rick, I want you to think of the most unforgivable thing that this world could ask us to do as parents."

Fear grabbed Rick by the throat as those words washed over him. There was only one thing that this world could demand of them as parents that'd be unforgivable.  _Oh God... not them_ , he thought as his breath congealed in his lungs.  _Please, not them_...

"Rose?" He could barely speak around the lump in his throat. "Christopher?"

"They're fine," she assured him. "They're with their uncles."

Hearing that brought Rick only moderate relief.

"Then who?"

"A little girl named Yasmine." Grief and a plethora of other things he couldn't define darkened the depths of her eyes. "A darling little angel with big green eyes, bouncing curls, and a smile that would break your heart."

"I don't understand..." he said slowly. "What does this little girl have to do with why you picked a monster like him?"

"Because it has everything to do with why I picked him." She slid her hand from his and stood. "The man you call a monster is the one who put her down."

Rick was barely able to get out a "What?" the shock was so thick in his throat. "Why?"

"A virus swept through the Sanctuary, infecting over a dozen people." Her hands fidgeted at her sides. The only outward sign of her anxious state. "Yasmine and her mother, Tami were two of those who got sick."

"And they turned," he guessed. "Right?"

"Yes." She started to pace beside the bed in small, tight circles. "And he was the one who put her down. Why?" She turned to look at him. "So, I wouldn't have to do it."

Rick found himself stunned into silence. As much as he hated Negan, as much as he'd like to take that bat of his and turn it on him, he couldn't help but empathize with the man for what he'd done. The mere thought of losing Carl or Judith was unbearable.  _I can't imagine being placed in a situation where I must put them down._ He didn't think he could do it. Not without losing what little sanity he had left _. Is that what made him the way he is?_ He found himself wondering. _Seeing so many children dying from something that we cannot stop?_ He was about to ask her when she again spoke.

"I don't expect you to understand my feelings for him. No more than I expect you to accept that I choose to be with him. Sometimes, I don't understand my feelings for him. But," she said with a sigh, "it is what it is and I'm not sorry."


	11. Chapter 11

"You shouldn't have to apologize." The admission was hard for him to make even after chewing over her words silently for a few minutes. "Not for having feelings for someone."

"That someone is a man who you despise," she pointed out, then sighed. "With just reason."

"That doesn't mean you gotta apologize for having feelings."  _Even if they're for that son of a bitch_ , he thought as he ran a hand through his hair. "The fact we're able to feel anything in this crazy fucked up world we're living in is a blessing."

It was much more than a blessing, he realized as Krypto whined and pawed at him for attention. Feeling let them know they were still alive once the dust settled. Feeling said they were okay, that they survived whatever situation. Feeling also let them know they weren't so far gone that they couldn't come back.  _We can still come back from this_ , he thought as he obliged the big dog's request and ran a hand over his glossy coat.  _With her help, we can crawl out of the rabbit hole we've been down all these many months_.

Raya would help them regain their footing, to find their way, and make themselves whole again.  _We'll survive this_. For Glenn, Abraham, for all the friends and loved ones they lost along the way, they'd go on. They'd build a new world from the ruins of the old one.  _One that won't be overrun by walkers or assholes with baseball bats_. Raya's extensive training by Batman and her decades of experience from living in the city of Gotham would benefit them in the long run. _She knows this world,_ he thought as Krypto heaved a contented sigh and stretched out across his legs once more.  _It's the one she's been fighting since she was a kid._

"It's a blessing when we can feel something that isn't anger, sadness or hate." Raya turned to stare out the bedroom window. "Lord knows we feel those emotions enough thanks to this cruel world we're living in."

It was a sad truth. This world delivered more heartache and pain than it did anything else. He knew that for himself.

"They aren't the only emotions we should feel, though." He stopped rubbing Krypto's silky ear when she snorted. "Just because this world has gone to shit doesn't mean we gotta give up on love and happiness. It's possible for us to have both."

He had to believe that it was possible for them to have both.  _I won't lose Michonne like I did Lori._ Michonne was nothing like Lori, though.  _No more than Raya was like Lori._  Michonne was more like Raya than Lori. She survived this world by her own strengths and merit. She didn't wait around for anyone to save her.  _She saves herself and everyone around her_.

"I do have love in my life." Raya glanced at him from over one shoulder. "I have the love of my children, my family, and my friends. And I love them."

"What about happiness?"

Her shoulders lifted in the faint semblance of a shrug.

"I am happy when they're happy."

"You need your own happiness."

_Even if that happiness comes with that asshole?_ An inner voice gut twitched as he deliberated over the answer. As much as it hurt him to think of her with a man like Negan, Raya deserved some happiness for herself.  _And if it is with Negan then I have to accept it._

He just didn't have to like it.

"Superheroes don't get happy ever afters, Rick."

"They don't?" One brow quirked as she shook her head. "Why not?"

"Because there is always an enemy out there who will use our loved ones against us." Bitterness edged her tone as she turned back to the window. "God knows it has happened enough in my family."

"That doesn't mean you aren't allowed to have love and happiness." A grumble came from the dog stretched across his lap before a paw came up to nudge his hand. Amusement trickled through Rick at Krypto's blatant demand for attention. He conceded, more because he found comfort in the feel of that silky fur against his palm than it was indulging the dog's command. "Your life doesn't end simply because you put on a mask."

"My life is one of duty and obligation," she said quietly. "My wants and needs don't matter."

"Bullshit."

She shook her head. "It's not bullshit."

"Yeah, it is." A chuff came from Krypto. "See, even Krypto agrees that it's a buncha horse shit."

"He doesn't get a vote." A sharp  _woof_  came from Krypto, who further expressed his displeasure by smacking a paw on the bed. Raya merely harrumphed. "I don't care what you have to say, you dopey mutt. I know what my orders are."

"You were ordered to stop living your life?" Rick scoffed and shook his head. "I don't believe that. Not after everything you've told me about your mentor."

She'd told him precious little about her mentor, really. Batman was a topic she tended to avoid unless it was imparting some lesson or bit of wisdom he imparted to her. However, she had told him a lot about the men who raised her.  _Neither of them would allow her to pursue a career that forced her to give up her own life._

"Rick, there are people counting on me, not only for the safety and protection I provide but for the support and care I give as well."

"So? That means you cannot have a life?"

"It means that my primary focus is on building a better world." Her eyes met his in the glass. "For you and your children. For my children. For all children."

"Building a better world doesn't mean you have to stop having a life of your own. Surely other superheroes have managed to have lives outside of their masks?"

"Stop it." The tone of command, bred into her bones, snapped in her voice. "Rick, my orders are clear. I'm to build a safe-zone for survivors and teach them how to defend themselves and their loved ones from the monsters that are around every corner."

"Then why are you with Negan?" A yip accompanied his question. As if Krypto was asking the same thing. "If your wants and needs don't matter, why are you with him?"

"Selfishness mostly."

"Maybe to some degree it's selfishness," he agreed with a slight nod. "But it's not all of it."

_Since you don't have a selfish bone in your body,_ he added silently.

"No, it's not all of it." She folded her arms around herself and resumed pacing beside the bed. Weighing what she was going to tell him, most likely, he realized as he watched her. She darted a look at him. "The truth?"

"Please?"

"He needs me."

Rick snorted at that. "Bull-"

"He needs me," she insisted, her tone firm. "Not Fenix, not Doctor Kean, just me."

"Negan doesn't need anybody but Negan."

"You've seen his bad side, Rick," she said. "It's ugly. Even I don't like that side. However, I have also seen his good side. I have seen behind the mask he wears. I know there's more to him than what he shows. I wouldn't be with him if there wasn't good inside of him."

"Right."

"There's a good man inside him, Rick. Same as there is inside of you. You both are just broken and lost because of what this crazy world has done to you."

Rick struggled to hold onto his temper. It was hard, though to sit there and listen to her defend a man who brutally murdered two good men.  _I asked for this, though. I asked her to be honest with me about why she's with him_. He couldn't very well demand her honesty and then get pissed off at what he heard.

"I'm more than Fenix or Doctor Kean or even a mom when I'm with him." He heard her say. "I'm just me. Well, I'm mostly me," she amended with a grimace. "He doesn't know I'm Fenix or that my name is actually Raya."

"What does he call you then if he doesn't call you Raya?"

"He calls me Fin."

" _Fin_?"

"Yes, Fin." He laughed, he couldn't help it. She looked at him, one brow lifted questioningly. "What's so funny?"

"I just don't see you as a Fin."

"I like being Fin," she admitted with a small smile. "She gets to have a small slice of normal inside this crazy world. She's allowed to feel something for someone who isn't either a family member or friend without it being complicated."

Raya didn't do complicated. She admitted as much while they were traveling together. A good majority of her reason for that was because of the man she was trying to avoid: Slade Wilson. He never questioned her about her relationship with the man, figured it was none of his damn business, and that if she wanted him to know, she'd tell him. Fragments of a conversation they had while driving floated back to Rick as he sat there and idly stroked a hand over Krypto's glossy coat.

_"_ _Slade-"_

_"… didn't want to be a full-time father?"_

_She shook her head. "It was more he wanted us to be a family when it best suited him to be one." Her soft sigh caused his belly to clench. "You know for yourself that is not how a family works."_

_"No," he agreed, gaze straying to the photo he stuck in the Bronco's visor. A thousand regrets swam through him as he stared at the faces of his wife and son. "It's not how a family works. You're right."_

_"Slade chose not to be there for his daughter, Rick," she said gently. "He put himself before her. You, however, are doing everything in your power to find your son so that you can be there to protect him from this bullshit we're dealing with."_

_"_ _Yeah..."_

_"You will find Carl. I know that you will. And once you do, you will do everything in your power to keep him safe." She squeezed his shoulder. "That alone makes you a much better father than Slade Wilson ever is gonna be."_

_Rick weighed her words silently._

_"I'm glad you kicked the son of a bitch's ass to the curb." He sent a look at her from the corner of his eye. "You deserve better than that asshole."_

Was better Negan, though? Rick didn't think so. Not after everything the asshole said and did in that clearing. In his mind, Raya was too good for the rotten, no good, ball-bat wielding lunatic. She was too good for most anybody really.  _Would things have been different if she hadn't left me in that farmhouse? If I found her before she got too far away?_ He wondered about that as Krypto heaved a contented sigh.

Once, he'd have answered those questions with a firm and decisive  _no._ If he had gone after Raya, then he wouldn't have found Carl.  _And I wouldn't have Judith_. However, a part of Rick did wonder if things would have been different.  _If_   _Glenn never helped me escape that tank then he would he never have taken me to where Lori and Carl were staying in that quarry camp_.  _If I never ended up in that camp, then I would never have taken over as leader_.  _If I never took over as leader than many of those we lost wouldn't be dead._

Another part of him disagreed and reminded him that people had gotten where they were because of him. He shook off his thoughts and focused on the woman pacing like a caged animal. Whatever he was about to say sputtered to a halt when Krypto sat up, chuffing softly.

"What is it, boy?" Raya turned towards the door. "Do you hear something out in the hall?"

"Judith is probably waking up. My daughter," he explained when she sent him a questioning look. "I should go and get her. She will want changing and her breakfast."

Her face softened. "You have a daughter?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Oh, why don't I go and tend to her while you get dressed?"

"You sure?"

"Positive." She started to leave but paused to flick him a wicked glance. "We'll preserve your modesty — and my illusions that way."

It made him laugh, as she intended. "Not the first time I've been caught in bed without a stitch of clothing on."

"Oh? People make a habit of catching you in bed naked?"

A  _chuff_  came from Krypto. "Hush you," he told him before saying to her, "Don't need you laughing at me."

Krypto yipped then. "I think he wants to know who managed to sneak in on you while you were sleeping."

"It was a fella from the Hilltop community." He smiled at Krypto's  _woof_. Figured it was dog for  _dumb ass_. "Was a helluva surprise let me tell you."

"That angsty little Jedi forgot to tell me about that," Raya grumbled as Krypto jumped down to join her at the door. "Guess I'm gonna have to go up to the Hilltop after I leave here and have a talk with him about it."

"Why?"

"'Cause Paul always leaves the most interesting details out of his reports."

"Wait." Surprise streaked through Rick. "You know Jesus?"

"Yes, I know that angsty little Jedi," she confirmed with a nod. "He's partially why you're in this mess with Negan."

"What?" Rick could barely get the word out around his swollen tongue. He fervently wished for a sip of water to moisten his dry mouth, but the cup on the nightstand had somehow ended up on the floor. He moistened his mouth with what little spit he could dredge up to ask, "Why?"

Raya seemed to sense his predicament because she crossed to the bathroom and filled a cup left on the sink with water from the faucet.

"It was as much to free Hilltop as it was because Paul wanted to get me away from Negan. Which he'd been trying to get me to do for months," she said as she carried the cup to him. "Here."

"Clearly, you refused," he kidded as he gratefully took the cup and drank from it. "Otherwise," he said once he finished, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Obviously." A faint smile curved her lips. "You wouldn't be in the predicament you're in if I had left Negan."

"You don't know that." He'd love to think it was true but knew it wasn't. Not after everything he learned about Negan. "Leaving him wouldn't have stopped him from coming after us."

"Rick, do you honestly think I'd leave Negan in power if I chose to leave him?" Krypto issued a snort. Raya hushed him with a look. "Negan is unpredictable now. Hurting him like that?" She shook her head. "Nobody would be safe from his wrath."

_Or from that bat of his_. Negan was an enraged bull over what they did at that satellite depot. If Raya left him? He'd be a wounded dragon.

"We gained Negan's attention after Daryl killed his men with an RPG." He grimaced as a plethora of bad memories rose up to haunt him. Carl losing his eye, walkers loose inside Alexandria's walls, having to chop Jessie's hand off so she'd release Carl. It all came back to him. One stunningly bad memory after another. Rick forced them down and focused on the here and now. There'd be time to grieve later. "We were already on his shit list before we attacked that depot."

"Yes, you were." She made a face. "I can't deny that it set him off when Daryl killed Bud and the others. However, I still had him reasonably under control. I even had him convinced to let me approach your people and try to resolve the situation without there being any more violence on either end."

"Then we attacked his outpost and killed all those men."

"Then you attacked his outpost and killed all those men," she confirmed with a nod. "It was like the bombing of Pearl Harbor— an announcement of war. So, he responded in kind."

Only instead of dropping nuclear bombs on them, he brought that bat down on the skulls of Glenn and Abraham.

"We attacked that depot because we figured that Negan was planning to come after us for those men." Rick ran a hand over his face and sighed. "It was a preemptive strike. Get him before he could get us."

"He was planning to attack you," she said honestly. "I stopped him."

"We didn't know that."

"Paul did."

Rick stared at her incredulously. "He  _knew_  you had stopped Negan from attacking us?"

"He did, yes."

"When?" He demanded. "When did he know?"

"When I tasked him with approaching your community and finding out what he could about you and your people."

"You told him..." Rick shook his head. "I don't understand."

He was starting to think he wasn't supposed to understand.

"Know your enemy, Rick. Know their strengths, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. That's how you defeat them in a fight."

"Wait..." He stared at her as a few things he hadn't realized before fell into place. "Did you have Paul approach Daryl and I?"

"Well, I didn't  _know_  it was you when I gave him that order," she admitted with a grimace. "But yes."

"You had him bring us to Hilltop?"

"I had him check you out," she corrected. "He decided to bring you to Hilltop and forge an agreement between your communities all on his own."

"Which brings us back to Paul wanting you to leave Negan and you refusing."

"Yes."

"Why didn't he just contact one of your partners? Or Kai even?"

It was a calculated move. A way of discovering if she operated alone or had members of her friends and family here helping her. Rick suspected she did from everything she said.

"He did," she said. "He called on Red Robin a few weeks ago before the incident with Bud to express his concerns about my relationship with Negan."

"And?"

"And he suggested to him that he should force me to leave Negan but Red refused to do it."

"Because it's your choice to stay or go."

_As much as we all might wish otherwise._

"Yes." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she took the cup from him and returned it to the bathroom. "Which is exactly what Red told him when they talked."

"How did bringing us to Hilltop help him with getting you away from Negan?"

Not that Rick wasn't able to figure it out for himself. Them showing up at Hilltop on the day Hilltop residents returned from a failed drop-off with a deadly message for Gregory, the leader of the community was like the second coming of Christ. It gave them the opening to make a deal that would see Hilltop freed from Savior control. All it required was Rick and them wiping the group out. Something Raya confirmed with her next statement.

"He couldn't make the deal with you. Only Gregory could do that. And to do that..."

"Meant we needed to go to Hilltop and meet with him."

"Yes."

"So, what now?" He asked her. "What's the next move? 'Cause I'm up against it. I have a week to gather enough supplies to satisfy the son of a bitch or risk losing more of my people."

A soft cry sounded from the end of the hall, signaling that Judith was awake and wanted tending too. Krypto chuffed and exited the room.

"Later," Raya told him as she turned to follow. "We can talk about what to do next later."

"Fine," he grumbled as he tossed back the covers and reached for his clothes. "And then maybe we will head to Hilltop to have a talk with Jesus."

The  _angsty little Jedi_  as she called Paul had some serious explaining to do.


	12. Chapter 12

"So," Dick said once he and Bruce were alone in the cave. "I guess we know it's  _not_  Slade Wilson that forced them to go with radio silence. It's the Joker."

"No," Bruce denied quietly. "It wasn't the Joker who compelled Raya to order them to cut communications with us."

"It wasn't?"

"No."

Dick frowned at him over the rim of the cup he held. "Then you think it is Slade Wilson that caused the need for them to cut off communications with us?"

Bruce typed some information into the computer before answering.

"I know Wilson is the reason for why they've opted for radio silence."

"You know it's Wilson?" Amusement coated Dick's tone. "And are you going to share how you know he's the reason for their silence or am I supposed to sit here quietly in suspense?"

Bruce didn't laugh but he did allow the smallest smile to grace his lips at Dick's gentle teasing.

"You've never sat there quietly." He flicked a look at him. "Even if I ordered you too."

"Hey, I'm chatty." Dick sent him an easy smile. "It's part of my charm."

It was one of the things that identified them when they both wore the cowl.  _Even Gordon often jokes about knowing which version of Batman has shown up by the number of witty remarks they make as soon as they arrive._

"You need less charm."

"Then I'd be you."

Bruce turned back to the computer. "You still have a long way to go before you'd be me."

"You do have that whole brooding thing down to an art."

"I tend to recall that you have your own gargoyle that you go when you're brooding."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Does Raya tell you  _everything_?"

"No." A beep sounded and distracted him for a moment. "No more than she tells you everything."

"She's gotten more like you since you tasked her with building a safe community for survivors and teaching them how to survive." Dick reached for his coffee. "I know I shouldn't be surprised that she cut off communications with us but I am."

"I'm surprised you haven't figured out why she chose to cut off communications with us."

"I didn't think to investigate the reason deeper," Dick admitted with a slight grimace. "I just assumed Raya was intentionally leaving us out of whatever was going on because she doesn't want us going down there and interfering."

_You thought it was because she doesn't need you_ , Bruce corrected silently. He didn't say that, though. The way he saw it, Alfred handled the situation and far better than he would have, anyway.

"That's not why she ordered radio silence."

"Then why did she?" Dick stared down into his mug. "That's what I want to know. Why did she order radio silence?" He lifted the mug but didn't take a drink from it. "And why have Tim tell us it was what they decided to do? Why wasn't she the one to tell us?"

"She's still inside the group working with Wilson."

Dick choked on a sip of coffee. "She's  _what_?"

"She is inside the group working with Wilson to find her and Rose."

"She's gone undercover?"

"Yes." Bruce looked at him from the corner of his eye. "She is going by the name of Fin."

A frown puckered Dick's brow. "I thought Roy Harper was their inside man?"

"He is," Bruce confirmed. "Harper is there with her. And they have a man in another community that they use to pass messages to Tim."

"Why is Raya on the inside?" One brow arched. "What compelled her to risk coming face to face with Wilson?"

"There were women being brutally raped and murdered by one of the Saviors," Bruce explained as he scanned the information that scrolled across the screen. "Raya went undercover as Fin to find the man and stop him."

"And did she?"

"Yes."

"Then why is she still there?"

"It is a way to keep a close eye on Slade Wilson and his whereabouts."

"That makes sense," Dick allowed. "But she's still taking a risk being in the open."

"Raya knows what she's doing. She's been undercover before."

"Yes, but times were different then. We were just trying to stop criminals. Not keep one from taking her daughter away from her while fighting hordes of infected people and teaching people how to survive."

"That won't happen. We won't let it." Bruce turned to check on the progress the computer made on comparing the samples. Fifty percent complete. They'd have their answers then and be able to figure out what to do next. "Tim believes she's become involved with the leader of the group."

"Raya?" Dick scoffed. "Please."

Bruce looked at him.

"There is some merit to his suspicions, Dick."

"You realize you're talking about the woman who hasn't dated anyone since Christopher was born, right?"

"Yes."

"Then you know…"

"She's only human."

Dick rolled his eyes. "I know she's only human. And believe me," he said. "I'd be thrilled if she found someone."

"But?" He cast an amused look at Dick. "I sense a but here."

"But it concerns me that she's going to make the same mistake that she did with Wilson."

"I don't think Negan is anywhere as dangerous as Slade Wilson."

Bruce didn't add,  _But he's still dangerous_. Dick had read the reports Tim had sent back to them. He knew about the instances of violence instituted against other communities. The punishments handed out to those accused of breaking the rules that Negan laid out. They filled him with the same reservations as Dick. However, Bruce also trusted his imp.  _She saw the good in Harley Quinn. In Bane. And both have become allies in this war we're fighting._

"What I don't understand is how this explains why they chose radio silence."

"They didn't have any other choice."

"What do you mean they didn't have any other choice?"

"Wilson hacked their communication systems a few days ago." Bruce keyed a few commands into the computer. "He was using it to track their location."

"And monitoring their communications."

"Yes." Bruce sat back in his chair. "He could have found out she is inside the Saviors and used the information to set a trap for her. So, she ordered radio silence."

"Do you think Wilson is the one who scrambled the signal?"

"No." Bruce keyed a few commands into the computer. "The coding is too sophisticated for someone like Wilson." Not that Slade Wilson was incapable of scrambling a communication signal, Bruce realized. The man was an expertly trained agent. His file in A.R.G.U.S's databank only listed a fraction of the unique skills Wilson possessed. He could easily have scrambled the signal. However, the coding was not simply too advanced for someone like Wilson. It was that it was written in such a way that it sent a message. He pointed to the screen. "Look at the coding. What do you see?"

"A lot of scrambled letters and numbers."

"There's a message embedded in the scrambled letters and numbers."

"A message?" Dick glanced at the screen and then him. "What kind of message?"

"It's a question." Bruce's lips curled at the end. "One you should know without having to think about it."

It was the first question he asked all his protégés on their first day of training.  _Why do we fall_?  _So, we will learn how to rise._

"You're right," Dick said as realization dawned. "That's too sophisticated a message for a man like Slade Wilson. But it's exactly the sort of message that Tim would send to let us know everything is fine." He flashed him a grin. "And you were angry he left Gotham after your expressly forbidding him from doing so."

"I was not angry with Tim for having left Gotham after I specifically  _asked_  him not too."

"You brooded about it for a week."

"I did  _not_  brood."

"Yes, you did."

"If I brooded, it was with good reason." Bruce reached for his mug and took a swallow of his now tepid coffee. "He left without first discussing his decision to go with me."

_He managed to evade me for a week_ , he mused as he set the cup back down.  _Something none of you have ever been able to successfully do_. Not even Jason managed to evade him for longer than seventy-two hours. Despite the annoyance he had felt over Tim's decision to ignore his orders, he also couldn't help the slight tingle of pride that filled him at seeing how far he had come in his training.  _The world will be in safe hands when I am gone._

"You had already told him he couldn't go."

"Had he explained his reasoning for wanting to go, I would have understood." A snort greeted that statement. He glanced over at Dick, a frown creasing his brow. "What?"

"You'd have still said no."

"Perhaps." Bruce turned back to the computer. "I did have my reasons for wanting him to stay in Gotham. It wasn't something I requested simply to punish him."

_Or to keep him away from Raya and the kids_.

"I know you had your reasons for keeping him here in Gotham," Dick said with a nod. "But Slade managed to find her anyway. So, did the men that Luthor sent after Kai. And Bane," he added before Bruce could form a reply. "Don't forget that he found her. And that was before Tim even got out of Gotham."

"I know Bane found her before Tim left Gotham."

It shocked him when he learned Bane not only discovered the place she was staying at in Georgia but that he helped her escape from the men Luthor hired to bring her and Kai to him. He shouldn't be that surprised, though. _They've had a connection ever since the night the Joker hired him to kill me._ Courage and loyalty were two qualities that a mercenary like Bane admired.  _And both are things that Raya possesses an abundance of._

"If she's right - and given how rarely she's ever wrong when it comes to the Joker - then I'm glad she has Tim with her. And Damian. They'll help her deal with whatever it is he's got planned."

Bruce didn't offer a reply. There wasn't one he could offer that wouldn't anger his oldest son. He couldn't help that he'd rather it was him who was there and making sure the Joker couldn't hurt anyone. It was the Joker. The rules changed when it came to him. Was he being unreasonable? Yes. Tim and Damian were exceptionally gifted, well-seasoned and skilled crime fighters. They could handle themselves in a fight. However, there was still a part of him that wanted to don the cape and cowl and go after the Joker.

_What is it Jim says about Dad Mode? That there is no off and on switch?_ He was right. There wasn't one. Not that he had found, anyway. People assumed he didn't care about his charges. That he adopted them simply to soften his reputation as a playboy billionaire. They believed he didn't worry about their safety or constantly check to make sure they were okay. They figured he dumped them in fancy private schools and went about his business.

They were wrong.

He worried for his children and grandchildren. Especially with this virus plaguing the world. Exceptionally gifted his brood was. He personally gave them the tools they needed to survive whatever the world tossed at them. He never anticipated a world like this.  _Nobody could predict something like this._  The line between  _Bruce Wayne_  and  _Batman_  blurred when the first infected started to rise. He couldn't compartmentalize the two sides of him. Not when the threats were coming from all sides. Not when the threat was something that neither side of him could eliminate.

"As if the infected roaming around, the bands of survivors fighting for territory and supplies, Wilson trying to get Rose, and the remaining rogues are not enough for us to have to deal with." Dick ran a hand over his face and released a sigh. "Now we have the Joker to worry about. And you know that whatever he has planned will be an over the top and grand affair."

"It can't be the Joker." Bruce steepled his fingers in front of him as he stared pensively at the screen of the Batcomputer. "Jim and I burned his body. Jim disposed of his ashes personally."

"How often has he managed to trick us into thinking he's dead only for him to pop up out of nowhere, better than ever, and with some new sick game he wants to play?"

Bruce grunted a noncommittal reply. He didn't need Dick to remind him of all the other times where they believed the Joker dead and it turned out he wasn't. He was fully aware of those times. They tended to haunt his thoughts day and night. However, there was just no conceivable way the Joker could have escaped this time. There just wasn't. The Joker had been dead. He carried his lifeless body into that crematorium himself. He placed it in that incinerator personally. He and Jim watched as those flames consumed that gaunt body.

_"He's just as dangerous dead as he was when he was alive." Gordon's voice was subdued. "Hard as that is to imagine."_

_"He's not a danger anymore," he rasped. "Tonight? Tonight, his criminal reign came to an end. It's over, Jim. He's finished."_

_"Is it?" Jim slid his hands deep into his pockets while he stood watching as flames brighter than the midday sun slowly consumed the skeletal body once belonging to the man known throughout Gotham as the Clown Prince of Crime. "Or has the son of a bitch somehow found another way to escape the hands of Death?"_

_"No." He shifted slightly as the flames burned even brighter for a moment. "He's not coming back. Not this time."_

He wasn't coming back. Not this time. That's what he told Jim.  _And I was wrong_ , he realized, gut twisting. Horribly, horribly wrong. Dick seemed to guess his thoughts because he turned towards him before saying, "You know he is back, Bruce. Somehow, someway, the Joker faked his death. He's in Virginia."

"I know he did." Bruce glanced at him. "Now, we find him and stop him."

"Have to figure out if he's using his  _Joker Venom_  to create a new bunch of infected before we can formulate a way of stopping him."

"The computer should finish analyzing the samples Selina gave us in a few minutes." Not that he needed to know the results. It was the Joker. He already knew what the results would show. "We'll know for sure then."

They fell into a sort of companionable silence as they waited. It was a return to the days when Dick was Robin and would be helping him with figuring out a case. The only difference was now Dick wore the cape and cowl.  _I should still be wearing the cape and cowl_ , he thought, jaw clenching.  _Dick should be enjoying being a husband and father._

"I know what you're thinking." Dick shifted in his chair and reached for the coffee carafe. "You want to put on the cape and cowl and go after the Joker, yourself." He poured coffee into his cup. "You can't, Bruce. Not with your knee in the condition it's in."

Bruce bristled at Dick's chiding tone.

"I am quite aware of my knee's condition."

He planned to speak with Lucius about finding something that would help him strengthen the knee so he could put the cape and cowl back on should it become necessary for him to do so.

"You're aware of it and planning on doing something about it." Dick slanted a look at him. "I know you. I know how you think."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't do something about my knee?"

"Of course not," he replied. "If there's a way to make your knee stronger, I'm all for it. However, don't do it simply because you want to put on the cape and cowl and go traipsing off to tangle with the Joker."

Dick didn't even flinch when he sent him a warning look.  _Either I'm getting too old or he's grown immune to my looks_. Bruce had a feeling it was a bit of both. Neither pleased him.

"I wasn't aware that what I was doing was  _tangling_  with the Joker," he grumbled. "I believe that I have done everything I could to stop the Joker from hurting people."

"What I know is that you want to go out and stop him."

"Don't you?"

"Of course, I do. You know I will do whatever it takes to stop the Joker." Dick leaned forward in his chair. "I'm not you, though. I'm not looking to become what I once was."

" _Was_?" One brow lifted. "What  _was_  I?"

"Someone whose anger at having the people he loved most taken from him compelled him to put on a suit and defend and protect all life, even at the expense of his own."

_You've never understood that my life never mattered_. He didn't tell Dick that. It would only lead to a long and pointless argument.

"If the Joker has returned and is creating an army of infected, then this world needs me."

"Yes, it needs Batman," Dick agreed with a slight nod. "And it has one.  _Me_."

"Dick..."

"The  _world_  needs Bruce Wayne more than it needs a second Batman," Dick interjected in a tone like tempered steel. "It needs your resources, your knowledge, your experience. It doesn't need your body or your life."

"The world has all those things. What it needs is all of us working together to stop the Joker from whatever it is he's got planned."

"Let me worry about the Joker. You continue working on finding a cure for this virus."

"I tried finding a cure. I failed. As has everyone else who has tried to manufacture a cure or vaccine."

_Just ask Luthor_ , he thought bitterly. Luthor had his team of scientists working around the clock in his state of the art laboratory on a cure or vaccine for the last three years. The only thing Luthor's scientists came up with was a crackpot theory about fusing human DNA with Kryptonian in hopes it would alter the virus and stop it from becoming activated at the time of death. To test their theory, though, required turning his grandson into a lab rat. He wasn't willing to do that. Even if it meant the possibility of stopping people from turning into the walking dead.

"You can fail as Bruce Wayne. As Batman, you can't afford to."

"Is that what you're afraid of?" Bruce demanded in a hard tone. "That if I go back out there I'll fail to stop the Joker?"

"No." Dick shook his head. "I'm afraid you will finally go too far and kill him."

_I can't listen to this_ , Bruce thought as he slowly pushed to his feet.  _I know what I must do._ Gordon was depending on him. The world needed him. He had to do this. Why? Because it  _was_  the Joker.  _I must get back out there. I must stop him before he manages to hurt more innocent people than he already has._

He crossed the Batcave, leaning heavily on his cane, and unlocked a glass closet the size of a sarcophagus. Inside, hidden away for the last year, was a suit of matte-black body armor made of reinforced Kevlar bi-weave fabric and fire-retardant Nomex. The silhouette of a winged nocturnal predator was emblazoned upon the broad chest piece. Adjacent shelves held steel-tipped black boots, gauntlets with scalloped metal fins, a hanging cloak, his Utility Belt, and — last but certainly not least — his cowl. Its mere shadow once struck terror into the hearts of the criminal element still infecting this world.

He regarded the cowl now, the black pointy ears, the empty eyeholes, the gaping area where his chin and mouth were visible once he slid the mask into place. The focus of his study was not so much the mask itself but what it represented:  _secrets_. Inside this one piece of Batman's arsenal was a million secrets.  _Batman's_  secrets.  _Bruce Wayne's_  secrets. The cowl was both the cloak and the dagger, and both had cut him deeply through his lengthy career. If he regretted anything, it was that several of the choices that he made had deeply affected the lives of his family and closest friends. He picked up the cowl as Dick came up behind him.

"It's not worth it, Bruce." Their eyes met in the reflection cast by the glass. " _He's_  not worth it."

"You're right on that, Dick." He set the mask back on the shelf and turned to face him. " _He's_  not worth it."

_You are,_ he said silently as he turned to limp back to the beeping computer.  _You're who I want to protect._


	13. Chapter 13

"Why are you here at the Foundry?" The man's low, dark tone sent a chill down Dom's spine. It took every ounce of his control to continue standing in front of the makeshift desk without twitching. "I told you to remain at the Sanctuary until either Raya Kean or someone close to her was found."

"I was ordered to come here."

Slade Wilson didn't look up from the map spread out across his desk. The wood beneath the thick paper was nearly black with age, with deep gouges scored into its smooth surface by years of abuse. Yet it gleamed beneath the glow of the recessed lighting. It was a testament to the order and discipline in which Wilson ran his organization. Everything around Dom sparkled and shined. If not for the fact that he had fought his way through a horde of infected on his way here, he wouldn't have believed himself in the middle of an apocalypse.

"Who ordered you to come here?" Wilson lifted his head enough that the top of the black patch he wore over one eye became visible. "And why?"

"Liam told me to come here and bring the news we have to you."

"I see." A faint smirk appeared but was gone in the blink of an eye. "What news is it that you bring me? And for your sake?" His voice dropped an octave. "I hope the information is worth disobeying my carefully given instructions."

Dom felt his gut clench as the weight of those words washed over him. Slade Wilson was far different than Negan. He possessed the ability to either command the respect and loyalty of those who served him or instill fear in those who foolishly tried to oppose him with just a few carefully chosen words. Dom had worked for plenty of other mercenaries — Edward Fyers most recently — but none of them were as dangerous as Slade Wilson. Not in his opinion, anyway.

Even when in a state of repose, Wilson's body resembled that of a caged tiger. Every muscle rippled with a lethal grace. Every limb reminded Dom of a cobra poised to strike at the precise moment when his hapless prey crossed his path. His one eye, when it met Dom's, gleamed with anticipation, amusement, and something primal that he didn't care to define.

It was not hard to figure out why he had been given the moniker of  _Deathstroke_  by Amanda Waller. The man was beyond dangerous. What Wilson did to Star City, and Oliver Queen before finding himself imprisoned upon the island he had been marooned upon was just the beginning of what he was capable of. Dom found himself immensely thankful that he had chosen employment with Wilson over Lex Luthor.

The likelihood that he would continue breathing was greater in the employment of Wilson.

So long as he provided the answers Wilson was currently demanding.

"My apologies for not remaining at the Sanctuary as you ordered but…" He was silenced with one fierce look. He swallowed the rest of what he intended to say and fought to keep his body from trembling.

"I strongly recommend that you explain why you are here and not at the Sanctuary," Wilson repeated, much firmer this time. Wilson slowly made his way around the desk to stand in front of Dom. "And I suggest you do so before what little of my patience expires."

Dom felt a shiver as the threat underscoring those words sunk in. If he didn't explain himself, and quickly, there would be hell to pay. The kind that could result in either great pain or the loss of life. He stared at his employer as he organized his thoughts into some semblance of order. Wilson looked every inch a modern-day pirate with the patch over one eye, three days' worth of stubble darkening his cheeks, and his more salt-than-pepper hair neatly banded at his nape.

His black tunic fit him loosely, the top two buttons left undone and revealing an expanse of smooth skin and taut muscle. His cargo pants molded to his muscular thighs. They were tucked into the top of a pair of heavy combat boots. All that was missing to complete the ensemble was a cutlass at his hip and a pistol stick in the sash looped around his trim waist.

"The hunter you wanted found and brought to you," he said. "He has been brought to the Sanctuary."

"Has he now?" A dark gleam flickered in that dark eye. A minimal amount of interest given the information that Dom just imparted to him. "And when did this happen?"

The silk undercoating inside that dark purr was exactly what Dom knew it was intended as: a warning. He had better talk fast and get back to his post at the Sanctuary. Doing otherwise could result in one of the swords strapped to the wall behind Slade's chair going through a part of his body that he would not enjoy or much appreciate.

"He was brought to the Sanctuary this morning."

"And how was he located?"

"He was part of the group that Negan made pay for attacking his outpost."

One dark brow lifted.

"The hunter was part of the attack on Negan's outpost?"

"Yes," Dom confirmed. "He was also the one who blew up Negan's men with an RPG."

"Did he now?" Amusement flickered momentarily across Wilson's face. "That is not a move I would expect from a man without military training."

"The hunter seems to possess a number of exceptional skills for one lacking formal training."

"Yes, he does." Wilson gave a slight nod of agreement. "And what does Negan plan to do with the hunter now that he has him in his possession?"

"He wants to turn the hunter. Make him one of his men."

"And that would be a wise move on Negan's part," he said, lips thinned in disapproval. "If I had not already made it clear that I wanted the bastard brought to me if and when he was found."

Dom took a deep breath and screwed up the courage to reveal the rest of what he had been sent here to tell Wilson.

"We believe the Harper kid brought the hunter to Negan for that reason." At Wilson's questioning look he explained. "Negan likes the hunter. He will want to keep him. Harper knows that."

"So," Slade mused as he perched on the edge of his desk. "Harper is an operative inside Negan's little band of survivors."

"Yes." Dom paused, swallowed. "So is Raya Kean."

Interest immediately flickered at hearing that name.

"Is she now?"

"Yes."

"Was she attired in her armor?"

"No. She has not worn her armor when she's been at the Sanctuary."

"She has been unmasked?" Wilson's fingers clamped down so hard upon the ancient wood that it groaned in protest. "And walking around Negan's compound without any of you noticing until now?"

"We couldn't be sure it was her." Dom reached into his pocket. "Not until this was found." He tossed something silvery on the desk next to Wilson's right hand. "That confirmed it was her."

Slade picked up the item — an earring — and held it between the tips of his long fingers. The waterfall of aquamarine stones and small, silver robins gleamed in the light. His eye narrowed speculatively. Dom saw the faint flicker of recognition that swept across his swarthy face and thanked Liam for having suggested he present it to him as evidence the woman had been found.

"Where was this found?"

"Outside of Negan's bedroom."

Something moved behind that eye, like sharks swimming in a dark, turbulent ocean. Dom shuddered but found he couldn't look away. His skin crawled at the malice and hate that darkened Wilson's face.

"Outside of his bedroom?" The words were a low growl. Like that of a jaguar stalking prey through the Amazonian rainforest. He flicked his gaze to Dom, scorching him with its heat. "Is she one of his wives?"

"No." Dom shook his head. "Not that I am aware of, anyway. She does, however, stay very close to Negan."

A nod was all that was given to that.

"Return to the Sanctuary," Wilson ordered in a low tone. "Inform Negan that I will be paying a call on him to discuss the terms of our agreement."

Dom took that as his dismissal and exited the makeshift office without another word.

…

He giggled while he pulled the trigger.

And cried as he giggled.

Huge tears drizzled down his cheeks and pooled in the cracks and crevices of his mangled mouth. The salty taste of them mixed with his glee and brought on a fresh wave of mirth.

"Oops! Missed!" He cackled. "My aim doesn't seem to be what it once was!"

The gun belched another burst of white-hot flame as he pulled the trigger again. The bullet whistled as it left the chamber and then there was a sound, much like that of a head exploding after a ball bat cracked against it. Blood poured from the black perforation in the middle of the adorable little cherub's chest. The stain blossomed into what he thought was the prettiest of flowers.

"A perfect rose for Batsy's pretty little Fenix," he chortled. "What gift could be better?"

 _None_ , he decided as he canted his head to the side and examined his work. Surprise, horror, fear, and pain darkened the depths of eyes the same color as Robin's.  _All four of the snot-nosed little brats_ , he thought as his chuckles slowly trickled into silence.

He had personally chosen this boy to play this very special part in this production he was staging because of how closely he resembled the committee of Boy Wonders that his dear Dark Knight had running around with him throughout their long and lustruous relationship.

Dark of hair, small-limbed, cute as a button, and obnoxious as jock itch. The boy fell back on the cracked pavement with only the tiniest of sounds escaping a mouth stained crimson. He spun in a circle, arms splayed wide, pleased that everything was turning out even more gloriously than he imagined it would.

 _And why shouldn't everything go spectacularly_? He asked himself as he stuck the pistol in the band of his trousers. He had gone to an insanely huge amount of trouble to make sure everything would be perfect. His eyes narrowed, and a spiteful sneer graced his lips.

Everything had better turn out just as he planned it...

_Otherwise, there'll be hell to pay._

Just as quickly as his thoughts turned dark, they returned to being jolly. He skipped over to look down at the bleeding and broken boy. Those blue eyes stared up at him, vacant of anything but the lingering realization that his short little life was about to come to a stunning end.

"My, my," he purred as he circled him. "But don't you look like a sleeping angel?"

The infernal droning of the undead broke the silence. He glanced up, eyes narrowed at being so rudely interrupted. Well, it was his own fault, really. He had specifically chosen to leave his present where he was sure it'd be found by his intended recipient. Warehouse in the middle of nowhere, fifteen-year-old boy that he beat with a crowbar, it was symbolism at its finest!

Oh, if only this was Gotham! He would have chosen the very alley where the second, huskier Robin tried to boost the tires off the Batmobile. Ah, that was such a fun time! The guts of that little scamp were precisely  _why_  he had chosen him to replace the first Robin. The boy had been perfect for the role! He was everything a  _good_  Robin should be. Bold, brash, fearless, ambiguously moralistic and willing to do what the old man couldn't:  _kill_.

Now, granted, the boy had given him a wee bit of trouble after he put on those fetching little green panties and matching hooker boots. He expected he would.  _I, mean, really_ , he thought as he looked back down at the boy lying in the middle of an ever-growing pool of red.

 _I gave him the prestigious role of my agent of chaos_. It just wouldn't have been seemly if he did not live up to the part. Besides, watching as his dear Dark Knight did everything he could to mold the boy into a suitable partner turned into the greatest bit of entertainment he could have hoped for.

He cackled, one deep, throaty laugh while he recalled the hours upon hours of enjoyment he'd received during that time. He'd watched from the sidelines as the boy struggled with those pesky principles his beloved possessed. His Robin had willfully defied his darling's edicts and obtained justice the way he felt a real Robin should. Why, he had even aided — quite happily! — his little puppet in wreaking havoc across the city.

All so he could see how Batsy dealt with a protegé who didn't believe in his edicts. More droplets rolled down his cheeks as he recalled how frazzled the big guy had gotten.  _Was sure he was gonna explode a few times,_ he thought as the droning got closer _._ He ignored the diseased rodents. No, the rotting masses did not matter to him. Not in the slightest. The only thing that he cared about was the boy dead at his feet. This gift was the gift that would keep on giving. People everywhere would be clamoring for his new line of Robin dolls!

_Not that they will ever live up to the enjoyment I had with my little Robin._

Oh, but his Robin had not been some mere toy he liked to tinker with when bored. No, no. He fully intended the boy would serve as his coup d'état, his way of overthrowing those pesky little morals his Batsy had and finally bringing him around to seeing what he had tried to tell him for years: that he was just as crazy as the rest of 'em.

_He just manages to hide it better than some of the crazies he's locked up in Arkham._

The plan had been brilliant! It had been a  _guaranteed_ success. He had finally figured out how to get around Batman's one little golden rule about not killing. He had discovered the perfect way to bring Batman down to his level. Kill Robin and Batman was  _sure_  to explode! His rage, his grief, his desire for vengeance would cloud his judgment and break him free from those moralistic chains that bound him.

He would finally see the world as he, himself saw it.

He would finally see the dawn at the edge of the night. Batman would finally realize who, and what he really was.

It had been the final gift he planned to give his love.

 _And yet_ , he thought now, a frown feathering his brow.  _The lil' scamp survived_. How he had managed to do it, he did not know. Nor did he much care. All that mattered to him was that the Robin he beat to death with a crowbar before blowing him into a bazillion itty bitty pieces in a warehouse in Ethiopia had somehow,  _somehow_ managed to survive.  _And he not only survived, but he took my old name to boot_!

He planted his fists on his bony hips and tapped his foot. Red Hood, indeed. Why, he made a mockery of everything he stood for! How dare he play such a cruel joke on him.  _Him_! The Man Who Laughs! It wasn't even like the joke was all that funny.  _I, mean, really! Faking your own death_?  _Who even does that anymore? Well,_ he thought as a giggle escaped from between his pursed lips _. Besides me, of course._

No, it was quite cruel when he got right to the heart of it.  _And that is why this plan is so brilliant!_   _I can't fail this time!_ He had not only chosen his Robin because he looked like all the others, but he didn't make the foolish mistake of expecting him to  _stay_  dead. Not when undead was sure to get him the reaction he wanted!

His mangled lips twitched into what could almost be called a  _smile_  as he told the slowly awakening boy, "Why, they're just gonna love you, kiddo."

He giggled as he circled around his greatest masterpiece to date. Yes, everything was going exactly as he planned.  _Well_ , he corrected as the boy twitched,  _this time_. All his hopes and dreams were about to come true. All that was left was the princess to finally fulfill her part.

"You're gonna call Batman for me." His grin stretched across his garrulous features. "You won't tell me no again!"

No, the little darling would do exactly as he told her. She wouldn't stop him from achieving his heart's desire.  _Not gonna stop me from breaking the Bats this time, Toots_!

The boy groaned as his body started the slow process of reanimation. His tiny fingers twitched, his skinny legs jerked, and those blue eyes staring so lifelessly at him from behind the fetching little green domino he placed on him earlier, started to go that feral shade of yellow. Oh, he could just imagine the look on the little lovely's face when she saw the gift he left for her.

Her anger wouldn't be the same as the big guys, but it would be enjoyable while it lasted!

His grin stretched wider as he eyeballed his work one last time before he turned to leisurely stroll across the shop floor. He really felt like dancing, though. And why shouldn't he?  _Robin_  was finally going to fulfill his role as his coup d'état. Oh, sure, he wasn't the real Robin, but who cared? It was only a minor detail! A tiny substitution! Besides, the importance lay not in the accuracy of the one he chose to play Robin, but in the significance of the gift itself.

A warehouse, some bombs, an undead Robin... it was history repeating itself!

He did a little jig as he headed into the loading bay. He couldn't be more pleased with how things were turning out! He was not only about to teach the princess about the consequences of telling him, no, but he was also gonna pay her back for all the times she kept him from killing a Robin. Plus, killing Fenix would cause the other winged brats to go crazy with grief.

 _Yes_ , he thought,  _this is gonna be brilliant_!

It was gonna be perfect, in fact.

Batman was gonna finally break his golden rule.

He couldn't wait.

His high, keening laugh winged out through the broken windows, alerting the walking corpses just on the other side of the huge metal doors. They droned their song of hunger as he climbed into the supply van he used to bring the boy here, reciting his favorite ditty under his breath.

 _"_ Flutter, flutter, my little Bat..."


	14. Chapter 14

_I knew you faked your death, you sick, twisted son of a bitch..._

With an invective of other, and even more colorful words that would have Alfie's pencil-thin mustache twitching with disapproval swirling through his head, Jason Todd reared back and slammed his fist against the books lining the shelf of the small bookcase. Flesh and bone cracked, split, but the physical pain barely registered through the thick rage enveloping him in a red haze.

He took a deep, calming breath. He needed a clear head so he could figure out how exactly he was gonna get his ass to Virginia, find where that pasty-faced freak was hiding and put a bullet in him.  _Should have put the son of a bitch down like the rabid dog he is years ago_.

It was a mistake he fully intended to correct.

He paced in front of the huge desk that occupied much of the small office, working out how he would get to Virginia the fastest, as well as going over what weapons and gear he would need to take with him. He stopped when a familiar  _click_ broke the silence. Jason turned his head and watched as the bookcase swung out to expose the elevator hidden behind the secret panel. The concealed hinges didn't make a sound as they popped free.

Alfred personally made sure that those gears were cleaned and oiled every few days to make sure that they did not squeak or get stuck. Secrecy was, after all, a matter of the utmost importance in the Wayne household. Even now, during an apocalypse, appearances were maintained. Nobody could know  _Bruce Wayne_  and  _Batman_  were the same.

With visions of wringing the neck of the man who wreaked havoc on his family for more than two decades in his head, Jason entered the steel cage and slammed the iron door shut. All the times where the Clown Prince did something to a member of the family played through his mind as the elevator drifted down below Wayne Manor. Every horrific game he forced them to play, all the cruel and vile taunts he hurled at them, every traumatizing moment swam before his eyes, reminding him of the vicious monster the Joker was.

_Sorry, Bruce, but I ain't playing by your antiquated sense of morality. Not this time_.

To his way of thinking, this reckoning was long overdue. It was cold hard justice, delivered brutally and swiftly to a man who deserved it. The Joker had chosen to mess with his family one time too many. Bruce would deny it, of course. However, Jason believed that his course of action was a fully acceptable one.

When the Joker decided to kidnap him those years ago? When he took him to that dilapidated warehouse in Ethiopia and tried to celebrate their  _anniversary_  by recreating his death? He had officially crossed the line. Now, he needed to pay for those actions. Especially since they nearly broke the member of this family that he swore to always protect from the Joker.

Anger simmered in his belly, cruised along his nerve endings and exploded from his mouth in one long, foul-tasting snarl.  _The Clown Prince of Crime is gonna die._  The bones in his fingers cracked and popped with how tightly he curled them into fists.  _And he's gonna stay dead this time._

He'd make damn sure of it.

The elevator came to a stop. Jason stormed into the Batcave, his eyes sweeping the dim cavern as he crossed over the bridge into the lower grotto. His only companions were the bats that chirped quietly to each other as he headed past the underground garage.

His own bike was somewhere among the collection of vehicles neatly parked in their stalls. Not that it mattered. He'd take the goddamn Batmobile if he had no other options. He stalked up the stairs and found Alfred - in slippers, a faded navy robe and much-loved flannel pajama's - standing in front of the main computer station.

Having a computer at all had been a novelty to his younger self. Having one with enough data storage and computing power to hack any government computer? Well, that had been the cherry atop the hot fudge sundae. Alfred regarded Jason with eyes that said the older gentleman had something to say and Jason was not going anywhere until he got to say it. Well, he wasn't gonna listen. Not this time.

"I'm going to Virginia," he told the butler before he could speak. "And nothing you say," he added as he stopped in front of him, "is gonna stop me."

"I implore you—"

"No."

He didn't growl it. No, even as pissed off as he was, he still maintained his level of respect for the staid and proper butler. Everybody should have an Alfred was his longstanding opinion. Alfred's role was crucial to the survival of the family. He was more than just some butler or driver. He was surrogate mother and father, uncle, mentor, confidante, friend, and ally.

Alfred also tended to serve as communication relay, mechanic, information processor, and meeting organizer. By the set expression upon his face, he was choosing to play his other favorite role: moral compass.

"I will not in good conscience allow you to leave this cave," Alfred stated firmly. "Not when what you plan to do amounts to nothing more than cold-blooded murder."

Jason almost smiled at that.  _Almost_.

"Not like I'm really asking for your permission here, Alfie."

A sniff greeted that statement. "This is not-"

"... how we do things in this family?" His lips twisted up at one corner. "I'm doing things as the family does them, Alfie. Especially since I ain't a member of said family."

"You are part of this family no matter how much  _you_  choose to believe otherwise."

"Then by your logic," he retorted, "that is exactly why I need to go to Virginia."

"You go to Virginia for your own need for vengeance," was Alfred's stern reply. "You certainly do not go just because your family is there and needs you."

"I'm going to do what needs to be done."

He went to step around Alfred, but Alfred set a hand on his arm to detain him. Jason cut him a look that would have made anyone else back off. Not Alfred. Oh, hell no. He was made of much heartier stock than that.

"I'm putting that clown in the ground," he said bluntly. "And there's nobody who is gonna stop me. Not this time."

"You are not some hardened murderer." Steel would have been softer than Alfred's tone. "You are not the monster the Joker is."

"Then what am I, Alfie?" It was a question he'd been trying to figure out the answer to for years. "'Cause there's a list of bodies on my rap sheet that all says otherwise."

"You want to do something because a member of this family is threatened. It is how you respond to these kinds of situations. However, what you want to do is not going to make things better. In fact, killing the Joker will only make things a great deal worse."

His clipped tone warned Jason that Alfred's patience was at the end of the line. Considering how the man had to deal with Bruce? It was amazing he even had any patience left to spare.  _Or sanity for that matter_.

"Alfie, who do you see when you look at me?" He heard the bite in his voice, and while it shamed him, he did not apologize for it. He had already wasted precious seconds he didn't have on this rather pointless — in his opinion, anyway — conversation. "Is he the orphaned boy Bruce brought here and handed a mask and some shorty shorts too? Or the teenager you counseled about things like school bullies and girls? Or is it the young man who got his sorry ass brought back from the dead by some Kryptonian prick and who Talia marinated in a Lazarus tub with her father?" He paused to take a breath. "I'm not the man Bruce is, Alfie. Hell, I ain't even close to the men Dickie or Timbo are. I'm not a Robin." He swallowed back the hurt that foamed up into his throat at that admission. "I never was one."

"You only think that—"

"Because it is the truth."

"No." Alfred shook his head. "It is the truth you have convinced yourself to believe."

"It is the truth because it is the man I am." He pushed around the older man and typed a series of commands into the computer. "I'm a killer, Alfie. That's what I am. That's what I can be."

"You can become more if you want to become more." A hand settled, warm and comforting on his shoulder. "You are so much more than what you see yourself as."

"Considering how I see myself as a nothing and nobody?"

"That's not what Miss Rose thinks."

Some of the wind left his sails with that subtle reminder. His head dropped forward on his chest.  _Dammit, Alfie_ … he thought as he gripped the edge of the desk.  _Why'd you have to go and play that card_?

He ignored the voice that said it was because it was the only one the butler knew would work to make him see reason.

"Don't you get it, Alfie?" He rasped. "I want to stop the Joker for them. To keep them from being tainted by his filth."

"My dear boy…" Alfred squeezed his shoulder. "Don't you think that Masters Bruce and Richard want to ensure the same things?"

"Yeah, I know they do, Alfie. It's just…"

"… that you want revenge for what the Joker did to you." Jason wanted to deny it but knew he couldn't. He did want revenge for what the clown had done to him. "Killing him won't make you feel better, Master Jason. You know that."

"I wouldn't have to consider it if Bruce had killed him years ago!" He slammed his fist on the workstation. "Dammit, Alfie, why didn't he kill the bastard when he had the chance? We wouldn't be having this damn debate if he had!"

An audible sigh sounded, disrupting the winged occupants above their heads. A familiar baritone said above the bats' soft chatter, "You still don't understand the reason for why I never killed the Joker. Even after all these years, and all the talks we've had, you still don't understand why it is that I never crossed that line."

Jason's temper, already at a critical level, exploded at hearing those all-too-familiar words.

"What?" he snarled as he rounded to face Bruce. "What don't I understand? That your damn code wouldn't allow you to do what needed to be done? That it was too hard for you to cross that line? What is it you think I don't understand here, Bruce? Huh?"

"No." Bruce shook his head and sighed again. "No, that's not what you have never understood, Jason. What you've never understood is how easy it would be for me to cross that line and kill the Joker." He limped towards him, leaning heavily on his cane. At that moment, he looked so human that Jason felt a shiver of alarm creep along his spine. It was a disturbing reminder about how Bruce Wayne was only a mortal among a League of meta-humans, cyborgs, and half-gods. "There is not a day that has gone by where I don't think about how much pain and suffering I'd have spared people had I done what you want me to do."

"Then why haven't you?" The question tasted foul. "Why did you allow that son of a bitch to continue breathing after everything he's done?"

"Because I wouldn't be the man I am if I had killed him."

"You dumped Kit in Virginia," Jason said in a hard whisper. "You ordered her to help the people there learn how to survive the shit this world was gonna throw at them. Well, this isn't about surviving some sort of viral outbreak. Not anymore." He shook his head. "This is the Joker. How can you expect normal people to fight a man we haven't managed to stop?"

"Raya is a strong and capable woman. She can help others to see they can not only survive this world without resorting to violence or manipulative methods but deal with men or women like the Joker."

"That's why you ordered her to stay down in Virginia?"

"Yes." Bruce nodded. "And why I sent her Damian, as well." He moved and took a seat in front of the Batcomputer. "People need to see they can rise above what has happened and become something more than just isolated bands of survivors." He sent a look over to the butler who returned it with one that Jason thought might have been slightly smug. "Who better to teach them how to rise than a woman who has done so her entire life?"

"She has kids-"

"And the help of not only the man who is her youngest brother, and best friend, but Harley Quinn, Ivy, Selina, and Wonder Girl."

" _Ivy_?" Both of Jason's eyebrows shot up at that. "Poison Ivy is a Siren?"

A nod was followed by a simple, "Yes, she is."

Jason had known Harley Quinn had gone to Virginia with Damian. Same as Selina and Wonder Girl. He had not known, however, that Poison Ivy had also journeyed South.

"Still," he insisted. "You can't expect a traumatized and barely holding it together group of people to fight a man like the Joker." Another thought came to him then. "Or Slade Wilson. Don't forget that Kit still has Wilson hounding her ass."

"And she will deal with Wilson as necessary." The computer started to beep, and Bruce reached over to type in a few commands to silence the alarm. "Raya knows to reach out if she needs help, Jason."

"She won't call for us unless the shit really hits the fan."

"Perhaps." Bruce inclined his head slightly. "However, is that pride or her believing in herself and the people around her?"

"Pride," he retorted with a snort. "Kit has too much of that and courage."

"Pride and courage are what keep her going when she wants to give up."

"They're also what get her into the most trouble," Jason pointed it out. "Or do I gotta remind you about all the times she's gone against your orders to keep her ass here in the cave?"

"And do I need to remind you about why Raya chooses to be Fenix?"

"I get why she's Fenix. I get that she fights the good fight and all that hoopla. However, I ain't talking about dealing with scumbags lookin for food and bullets. I'm talking about the Joker. And I'm talking about killing him because..." His shoulders slumped as the truth came pouring out of him. "Because he almost broke her the last time they were face-to-face."

Alfred's hand tightened on his shoulder. "And that would be a good reason  _not_  to kill him."

"For why  _she_  can't kill him, maybe." Jason turned his head to stare at the dinosaur standing there like the guardian at the gate. "I can, though. I can kill that damn clown once and for all. I can make sure that she isn't placed in a position where she might not be able to stop."

"Then  _you_  wouldn't be the man who she sees you as," Alfred replied smartly. "And the man that Miss Raya sees you as is the one she believes the most in."

His shoulders slumped as the impact of Alfred's words slammed home. "Why does she care so much about my no good, happy ass?" He muttered. "Not like anybody else ever gave a shit about me."

"You're hers," Bruce's velvety baritone washed over his frayed nerves, soothing them. "Fenix brings Robin home."

"I am not a Robin." His tone cracked the air like a whip. "Never really was a Robin."

"You will always be a Robin," Bruce said thickly. "And Fenix will always be there to bring you home."

Jason felt bereft when his anger drained out of him.

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked the man seated before him. As if he was fifteen-years-old and needed his dad's advice and guidance. "How do I help her?"

"Help her as you have helped her for all these years." Alfred's fingers tightened for the fraction of a second before he removed his hand and moved back. "Help her by taking care of the members of this family. Protect people from those who will try to hurt them. Be there when and if she falls."

"And help her to rise if she does," Bruce added. "We fall, we rise, Jason. Always remember that."

_Rise_. It was the first lesson Bruce taught him after he started training to become Robin.  _Fall because ya need ta learn how ta get back up. Fall so that you can learn how ta be strong, so you can learn how ta try, try, try again_.  _Fall so you learn ta push back harder_. He slowly lifted his head to look at Bruce.

"I'm still going down to Virginia," Jason said after a long, interminable pause. "I'll help her by protecting the people she is helping there. And if that clown dares to show his face..." His fists bunched at his sides. "He will meet justice." He paused, then growled, " _My_  justice."

He turned then to stalk from the cave.


	15. Chapter 15

Dick exited his bedroom at the same moment Jason stormed from the upstairs study. One look at his younger brother's face was all it took to tell Dick he was a volcano set to explode. The pressure had been building inside Jason for a long time now.

An eruption of cataclysmic scales was not only imminent, but it had long been expected. Dick had dealt with Jason enough when he was in this vitriolic state to know he wanted to avoid being caught in the phreatic blast when it came.

_He can find someone else to spew his steam-filled miasma at_ , he decided as he quietly shut the door behind him. It wasn't like there was a lot of guesswork involved in figuring out why Jason was in such an agitated state. Someone — and he imagined the culprit was the ever so helpful Selina Kyle — had told him about the possibility of the Joker being alive and down in Virginia.

_Hopefully, Bruce managed to convince him to not go down there and kill the Joker outright_...

Dick heaved a weary sigh as some papers went sailing off a table.

"Jason..." he called out as Jason headed towards him. "Wait up a—"

"I'm going down to Virginia," Jason interjected as he stalked by. "I don't suggest that you try and stop me." He shot him a look that burned with the depth of emotions boiling inside him. "I will not hold back this time."

"Jason." Dick detained his brother by setting a hand on his shoulder. "Stop. Please."

"I said—"

"I just want to talk to you for a minute."

Jason stopped, but he did not turn around.

"Did you not hear what I said?" Dick didn't need to see his face to know Jason's was hard as stone. "I am going down to Virginia." A scowl got shot over one shoulder. "And you won't stop me. Not this time."

"I don't plan on stopping you."

"Oh?" The shoulder beneath his palm stiffened. "You won't?"

"I plan on supporting your decision to go down there, actually," he said honestly. "I want to help you, however, I can, in fact."

Jason partly turned towards him. Even in the dim shadows filling the hallway, Dick could see his face was a mask of hard planes and steely determination.  _Just like Bruce's when he's dead-set on a course of action._

"Yeah?" A thin note of suspicion crept into his voice, on his face. "And why's that?"

"Because knowing Raya will have you, Tim and Damian there to help her with handling anything that might happen provides me with a small measure of comfort." He squeezed Jason's shoulder gently. "Having three Rob—"

"Not you, too," Jason groused. "Look, I'm not a Robin. I haven't been one in years." Beneath his palm, Dick felt his shoulder droop. It was a clear sign of how much emotional turmoil Jason was in at that moment. "Hell, we both know I wasn't much of one when I did wear the mantle of Robin."

Dick felt his heart constrict at hearing so much self-loathing and doubt come from a man with as much pride as Jason possessed.  _You don't see how much like Bruce you really are, do you_? he asked him silently.  _It was why he chose you as Robin. You were so much more like him than I ever was. And that_ , Dick realized as he stood there and studied the man before him, was a huge part of the discord between the two men.

Jason came with a wealth of emotional baggage and an island full of never healed traumas. He tended to internalize a lot of his feelings in self-doubts and an endless amount of guilt and self-blame. However, where Bruce chose to channel his rage into doing things designed for the greater good of humanity, Jason used it to fuel the anger and hate that filled much of his heart and soul before venting it at whoever, or whatever got in his way.

However, below those virulent emotions was a man who felt keenly for the people he allowed into his inner circle.

_And for the family he routinely deprives himself of having a real connection with_.

He didn't say any of that to Jason, though. It would only result in the two of them getting into a pointless confrontation that would likely end up with one of them — and everything pointed to it being Jason — throwing a haymaker that would result in them tussling in the middle of the hall until Alfred came along to chastise them for their childishness. He did decide to correct Jason about one thing, though.

"You will always be a Robin." He spoke quietly, but it didn't mask the steel beneath the words. He needed to let Jason know that he would not accept any of his usual argument about this fact. He was a Robin and it was beyond time he came to terms with it. "And right now, having three Robins to fight the Joker with is almost as good as having one Batman." A small smile curved his lips. "Especially when one of those Robins is also the best able to corral the current acting one and keep him from going after the Joker, himself."

"They could still use Batman." He glanced at Dick from over his shoulder. Some of the anger had faded from his eyes. However, Dick knew it would only take a spark to reignite that flame. "Especially the current one."

"And they will have Batman," Dick vowed in a firm voice. "Both of them if that's what's needed. However," he said as he took a step back. "What they need now is the Red Hood. Especially Raya. You kept her from giving into the Joker the last time they faced off."

Surprise raced across Jason's face.

"She told you about what happened the night that pasty-faced freak tried to recreate my Deathiversary?"

Dick nodded. "Yes, she did."

"Should have known she would tell you everything that happened in that warehouse." His lips tilted upwards at the corner. "Two of you have always been thick as thieves."

"She tells you things she won't tell me, Jason."

"Yeah?" Jason lifted one brow. "Like what?"

"Like about the abuse she witnessed. And about what really happened the night her mother was killed."

"Wasn't that she didn't wanna tell you about that stuff," Jason told him quietly. "It was more she didn't want to taint your memories of your folks with hers."

"I know she doesn't want to ruin my memories." Dick sighed softly. "While I don't agree with her about it, I understand her reasons. Same as I do about why she wasn't forthcoming about the Joker being alive before now."

"She just wants to make sure the son of a bitch is really back before calling in the troops."

"That's why I'm telling you to go down to Virginia." Dick was all seriousness then. "If anyone has any chance of finding the Joker and stopping him, it's you."

Jason weighed his words silently. Finally, he nodded, and said only, "I'll let you know what I find out."

With that, he turned and made his way down the hall. Dick watched him go, his heart heavy. Then he turned and headed to the nursery to check on his son before crashing for a few hours.

…

James Gordon's biggest secret from his days as a police officer was that when he came home from a long, and especially grueling shift, he would immediately go and check on his sleeping children. His children — all three of them — was the reason behind why he had done a great many of the things he had in his life. They were what made him be the best cop he could in a department so riddled with corruption.

It was his daughters, as well as his grandkids, who kept him doing what he could for the people of Gotham. The city still needed him as much as it did Batman. They set the tone and made sure the vermin still roaming about could not win.

No matter what path the virus took, no matter what happened to them, they had to make sure that whatever filth survived would not manage to win the war they started all those long years ago. They absolutely could not let the swine have what little of the world remained.

People — good, honest, decent people — deserved every opportunity that could be given to them. Humanity had to survive. They had to make sure of that. Everything they did needed to lead to a better world for people to live in. So, he would continue doing what he could to make sure that better world happened.

He would continue doing it until he was either too old or too dead to still be doing it.

_This world might have gone to hell in a hand-basket_ , he thought as he crossed the foyer to the main staircase and began making his way upstairs.  _But it doesn't mean that we must become like the scum ruling the city's underbelly. We are better than that._   _We are better than them._

He shrugged out of his heavy overcoat as he turned at the top of the stairs and made his way down the dim corridor towards the nursery. The calm silence of Wayne Manor — his home after his neighborhood in the Narrows became overrun with the undead — was a comfort after the grueling events of the evening.

Even in the middle of an apocalypse, crime did not sleep. Not in a city like Gotham. Most often, he didn't come in until well after everyone else had gone to bed.

Not that it mattered.

His routine would be the same one he had held to for the last three and a half decades. It was going to stay the same until he could no longer keep it as such. The only change in his routine was that the Manor was missing two of its junior members.

His other grandchildren were sleeping in an underground bunker that the man who chose to serve Gotham silently had built ahead of the virus's outbreak somewhere in Virginia. No matter. He'd continue that long-standing tradition with the newest addition to their eccentric order. A tired smile creased his lips as he dropped his coat on a table before quietly tiptoeing into the still dark nursery.

"Well, I see that you are awake," he whispered to the baby who gurgled and flailed his tiny fists. Bright blue eyes, same as his papa's, looked up at him with a face that reminded him of his Barbara's when she was that age. "Waiting for your grandfather to come and tell you a bedtime story, eh?"

Happy sounds greeted those words. Gordon chuckled and reached down to gently pick the infant up.

"I have the perfect story to tell you this time," he told him. "It's about your aunt." More gurgles sounded. "What's that you say? You've never met your aunt? Yes, I know you haven't met her yet." He smiled at the wriggling baby. "See, your aunt is far away from here and helping people like your papa and grandpa by teaching people how to survive this world without resorting to violence and mayhem. You'll love her when you meet her, though. She's a lot like your mother. Strong, smart, stubborn as an ox."

He turned to slowly walk over to a framed picture that hung on the wall. "See the woman standing there beside your papa? That's your aunt." More gurgling came from his grandson. "What's her name, you ask? Well, officially it's Raya. However, you will learn to call her Fenix. And," he added as he studied the young man standing beside his niece. "I imagine she will one day call you Robin. Same as I have called your father and uncles."

He smiled as he studied the faces in the picture. The fresh-faced girl smiling back at him had grown so much in the twenty years since the picture had been taken. There was only one thing that hadn't changed and that was her pledge to always bring Robin home.

"I'm going to tell you about the night I told Fenix one thing," he said to his now silent grandson. "The night I told her to go. Why did I tell her to go?" He grunted. "Well, you'll learn that there is no stopping your aunt when it comes to rescuing a member of this family from someone who means them harm."

_Especially when the one who means to harm them is that damn clown_.

"On this night, I told her to go because I knew I would never convince her how it was best she remains at home with me. I knew I didn't have any hope of stopping her from going to where the boy was being held hostage. I knew telling her to let Batman handle the situation wasn't going to keep her put."

He turned to slowly walk towards the opposite side of the room, heedless of the shadows playing about his stockinged feet or the creeping exhaustion weighing heavier upon him with every passing year. This was his time with his grandson. The one he could have this time with, he reasoned as stifled a yawn. His other grandchildren were over two hundred miles away.  _Do they remember me telling them this story when they spent the night with me last_? he wondered as he looked down into the quiet face nestled into the crook of his arm.  _Or have they forgotten it because of all the crap they have seen?_

"I told her to go," he continued, his heart just a bit sad at the time he was losing out on with his other grandchildren, "because I knew how much the boy that damned clown was threatening meant to her, because there is absolutely no reasoning with her when it is her heart leading the way, because there is no way to make her understand that boy wouldn't want her trading her life for his."

_And that was after that boy told her that he didn't want her trading her life for his_ , he added silently.

"I told her to go because I know she is only happiest when she is with him, because there is no light in her life without him, because she is not whole without him standing by her side. I told her to go," he added with a soft sigh, "because I am her father, because I know what it feels like to watch as someone you love is in imminent danger, because I understand that fire in the belly when you see the people you love are in pain and know there is nothing you can do to stop it."

_No matter how hard you try._

"I told her to go because love makes you sacrifice everything to save those you care about, because it lends you the strength you need to protect them, because it makes you become the hero you need to become. Go, is what I told her," he said as he slowly made his way over to lay the now sleeping infant back in his crib. "Because Robin belongs to Fenix, because he is her partner and best friend, her younger brothers, and the boy she is as much mother, and mentor too."

He tucked the blanket around Richie before straightening and turning. He stopped when he saw the figure lurking just outside the doorway.  _Getting more and more like your mentor with every passing year_ , he thought, stifling a smile.

"How long have you been standing there?" He asked as he slowly turned towards his son-in-law. "Or is a better question, how much did you hear of what I was telling Richie?"

Dick's teeth flashed as he stepped into the room.

"I pretty much heard everything you told him."

"Well." Gordon sniffed. "Every damn bit of it is the truth."

"I know it is." Dick slowly padded over to look down at his sleeping son. "And are the reasons for why you will tell Fenix to go if Richie is ever in trouble." He reached down to stroke his fingers over his son's downy head. "He's hers because he is mine. Same as Kai and Rose are mine because they are hers."

"I have often wondered why it is that you two never dated. Not," he added quickly, "that I regret your having married my Barbara. I am pleased as punch that you chose her for your wife. It just always seemed like you and Raya were meant for each other."

"We tried once."

"What?" Gordon couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. "When was this?"

And why hadn't he known about it?

"It was when we believed Bruce was dead." Dick's smile was just a bit bitter and his tone one that indicated just how hard that time had been on him emotionally. "It made sense to give things a try given everything else going on at the time in our lives."

It made perfect sense to Gordon.

"You have always been comfortable with each other." He smiled. "You have a lot of years together and know everything there is about the other."

"Well, that was the problem," Dick told him as he straightened. "We were a bit  _too_  comfortable with each other."

"And you wanted more than that," Gordon said. "Am I right?"

"I did," Dick admitted with a slight grimace. "Raya was content with things as they were."

"She's always struggled with matters of the heart."

"She's never really gotten over losing Christopher's father."

"She might have if things with Wilson had turned out differently."

"Maybe," Dick allowed with a slight nod. "There's no way of knowing that since Wilson was sent on that mission to Lian Yu before they even had a chance to go on a date."

Gordon set a hand upon his shoulder. "Don't give up all hope. She may find the love and happiness you have with my Barbara still."

Dick flashed him a tired grin.

"You do realize you are talking about the female equivalent of Bruce here, right?"

Gordon grunted.

"Even your mentor has finally found love and happiness."

"And has been complaining about it ever since."

Gordon chuckled softly. "It's all for show, son. It's all for show."


	16. Chapter 16

When Diana was a little girl she told her mother and aunt — much to their amusement — that she would never fall in love. To the young princess's way of thinking, love was nothing more than a game played by selfish, thoughtless, and careless men. One did not need love to have children. Wasn't she, as well as all the other children who had been born proof that men were only necessary for conception purposes?

For years, her mother, aunt, as well as many of the other women of their clan told her how men were not for pleasure. There was nothing, but pain, misery, and treachery found in their arms. No mortal man could step foot on Themyscira without the promise of death.

Even the male gods trod lightly when walking on their sacred shores. This, Diana believed, meant men were something to scorn, avoid, and deal with as quickly as possible.

To love a man was more than foolish or even reckless.

It was tantamount to suicide.

As she grew into a woman, she saw how mercurial love could be. Fickle, feckless, faithless. However, she discovered something about love. Something that not even her mother and aunt seemed aware of. Or simply did not care about. Men were not the only ones who caused extreme pain and suffering. Women were also quite capable of inflicting great harm upon those they bestowed their love and affection.

Many of her fellow Amazonian's fought over the right who could enslave the men that found themselves imprisoned on their island. The winners would drag the men away and take advantage of them before casting them back into the very ocean that delivered them to their shore in the first place.

Diana found the practice appalling.

Worse, however, was seeing her friends give away their hearts and their bodies away to people who professed their undying love for them, who swore they'd protect them, but who callously; cruelly tossed them aside when done with them. Love, the teenaged Diana decided, meant that one would have their heart crushed once a lover obtained whatever pleasure could be derived from their relationship.

That, she swore to the heavens in a youthfully impetuous act, would not be her fate. No man or woman would ever make  _her_  act so foolish; careless. She would never allow herself to become a slave to this thing called  _love_.

She chose instead to focus on her training, honing her skills and abilities and becoming an unconquerable warrior and not a victim of some emotion. If it was not something she could defeat in battle, she wanted nothing at all to do with it.

Aphrodite heard Diana's impassioned proclamation and took it as a personal challenge. Diana would soon find herself learning the greatest lesson in love. Before dying at the hands of the traitorous God of War, Ares, the Goddess of Love manipulated a sequence of events that would forever change Diana's life. Through her carefully orchestrated machinations, the war of man came to disturb the quiet solitude Themyscira provided them.

The conflict in the outside world brought a young Allied captain named Steve Trevor to the island. Grievously injured, and in need of help, Diana plucked Steve from the wreckage and nursed him back to health. Steve proved the perfect foil to Diana's reticence about love.

Through him, Diana discovered that her true destiny lay in aiding Man's World. She could help them defeat the forces trying to destroy it. From Steve she would learn about such things as human sacrifice, fighting for the greater good, believing in something so much that it lent strength where none existed, and above all else: the power of love.

Yes, Diana, Wonder Woman, Princess of Themyscira, daughter of Zeus and Queen Hippolyta, would discover how men were not merely tools used for reproductive purposes. They could also give a woman with the greatest of pleasure. Simply by conversing with her, engaging in a battle of wit or asking her for her opinions brought a glow to her heart that rivaled that of the sun.

A hand set on the small of her back could bring her either comfort or the quiet acknowledgment that she was not alone. Joy could be taken in simple acts like moving around a dance floor, sharing an ice cream sundae or sitting together and watching the sunset. Not all men were traitors or warmongers as her mother and aunt proclaimed.

They were also the fiercest of friends, the strongest of allies, and the staunchest of supporters.

Diana saw what the world of man was capable when they believed in something hard enough. The Great War exacted a great toll upon the mortal world. Good men and women died for what they believed in. She saw mortals at their very best, and at their very worst during those long, grueling years. She also witnessed firsthand what they could do in the name of hatred, and the lengths they'd go to preserve the thing they held most dear:  _love_.

From a carefully crafted plot by the Goddess of Love, Diana learned to believe in something other than the sword in her hand or the godly powers that flowed through her veins. While working alongside the very humans Ares, and a group called Nazis, sought to destroy, she started to believe in the very emotion she once proclaimed to the heavens she would never allow herself to fall victim too. Steve once told her it wasn't about what people deserved. It was about what she believed.

She believed in love.

_Love, after all_ , she thought as she stood at the window and watched the sunrise, is the only thing that can save a world that is on the brink of destruction.  _That is why I stay and continue to fight, to give to the world. I know a better world is still possible. That is my mission. That is what I can do_.  _I can help them find their way._

Like Steve helped her find her way.

Diana's throat tightened as an image appeared in the frost coating the window. There he was in his pilot's flight gear, standing beside a plane, and smiling that secretive little smile she found so charming. So handsome and happy, eager for his life, and whatever adventures awaited him to begin.

So very much alive.

Tears welled, and there was the familiar stirring of a never gone grief, but she smiled through the hurt and the pain. She reached out to set her hand upon the frosty glass, remembering the time, the place, and the people she had met. Steve had loved her, but he was now gone.

The love he had awakened inside her had never faded, though. It had simply grown, encompassing all the mortal world. One of those her love encompassed was a man who also started off as a friend. Time allowed that love to grow into something deep and lasting. For years, she and Bruce fought to save the world. Partners in justice and now in life, as well.

_I used to want to save the world for Steve_ , she thought as she sighed and removed her hand from the glass.  _Now, I want to save it for myself. And for the family I've been blessed with having._

"Penny for your thoughts?"

A smile curved Diana's lips as that smooth voice Bruce used when he wasn't Batman broke the silence.  _How long has he been standing there_? She found herself wondering. That the man could still move as silent as a lone winter wind despite the need to use a cane both amused and amazed her.

"I'm afraid you would need change," she replied as she slowly turned to face. He stood in the doorway, hair still damp and curling from a shower, his face freshly shaved. A smile hovered on her lips as she took in what he considered as his  _around the house attire_. As if gray slacks and a white button down, constituted casual wear. "My thoughts are not worth a penny."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"Believe me," she assured him with a slight wave of her hand. "You wouldn't find my thoughts worth much."

"I will always find your thoughts worth the price I pay for them."

"Even if the price includes a few bruises?"

"Especially if they include a few bruises."

She shook her head.

"You've always been a glutton for punishment."

A slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes was the closest she got to an actual smile. The long years of sleepless nights, brutal battles, countless injuries, multiple personal traumas, and stress had taken a toll on him. A few silvery hairs at his temple were a reminder about the passage of time and how fragile mortals were.

There would come a day when Bruce would join Steve and the others in death. It was a day she feared but accepted as part of life.  _I would rather have thirty good years with him than none at all._

"Maybe," he allowed with a nod. "But that's beside the point."

"What is the point?"

"What you were so lost in thought about?"

"Oh." She waves a hand dismissively. "I was just remembering is all."

He slowly limped over to join her at the window.

"Oh? And what were you remembering that it made you look so sad?"

He knew her better than a lot of people. There were times she thought he knew her better than she knew herself. She attributed that to their more than two decades of friendship.

"I was remembering Steve," she confessed finally. "It's been almost ninety-five years since he died."

"I'm sorry that I never got to meet him." A faint hint of sorrow darkened his eyes. Diana imagined he was thinking of other friends they had lost either to war, some virus running rampant across the Earth or the machinations of mercurial men likening themselves to new gods. "He sounds like a good friend to have during times like these."

"He was a good friend," she agreed with a nod. "You would have liked him. And he," she added quietly, "would have liked you."

"Despite my inability to develop healthy interpersonal relationships with people?"

"You may struggle with maintaining your relationships with the people you allow to get close to you," she told him, "but that does not mean you lack the ability to love. Your deep love for humanity far outweighs your anger and your hatred. You have dedicated your life to the greater good, Bruce. You have always believed in tempering vengeance with compassion, and balancing justice with mercy."

"Same as you." A smile softened the harsh planes of his face. "You have always believed in love."

"I have seen love conquer hatred." Her smile was full of memories. Good, as well as bad. "I have seen love save this world from the force's trying to destroy it. I know that it will save the world now."

"Yes, but." A pensive frown darkened his brow. "Will there be a world left that is even worth saving?"

Diana set her hand atop the one curved around the top of the cane he leaned heavily upon.

"Of course, there will be a world left that is worth saving." Her brow puckered at the momentary fear and doubt that darkened the irises of his eyes. "Why would you think there won't be a world left saving?"

He was silent for a moment. Diana used that time to study his face. It told her little. Not that she found that all that surprising. Bruce was a master at concealing his thoughts, and his feelings. It was a point of contention between him and the children he chose to adopt and raise as his own. Finally, he sighed and looked at her.

"I'm beginning to think that those who say we are fighting something that we have no hope of defeating are right."

Diana knew who a few of those that thought they should stop fighting were. They were nonbelievers, people who were content to let the virus run its course before picking up the pieces and starting again. Diana wasn't willing to give up. No more than she believed that Bruce was ready to give up.

"They're wrong, Bruce."

"Are they wrong, Diana?" He drew in a breath and released it slowly. "Or are we?"

"No." She shook her head. "They're wrong. We will beat this virus. I know we will."

"Diana-"

"We will beat this virus, Bruce" Her fingers squeezed his. Comfort, strength, security. "We will find a way to stop people from dying and reanimating as empty husks. And once we do, we will then help the mortal world to rebuild. Stronger and better than ever. Trust me on this."

"I do trust you, Diana. And I believe you see a world that can be saved." He heaved another sigh. This one sounded weary. And the shoulders that had for so long carried the weight of the world upon them, dropped. "I'm just beginning to think that this is a losing battle."

Seeing a man like him filled with such doubt hurt. Bruce had always been the most stalwart of Earth's defenders. Even when things looked their darkest, he rallied and came back strong. Nothing had ever managed to break that indomitable spirit he possessed. Until this, she realized with a curl of dread. This virus was doing what the Joker, Darkseid, and even Bane couldn't: breaking Batman.  _I believe,_  she thought as she squared her shoulders and faced him fully.  _I believe enough for the both of us._

"Why do you think that we are fighting a losing battle?"

He nodded to the snow and ice-covered world that was outside the window.

"It's been three years since this virus first started and things are barely holding together."

"And? What does that have to do with anything? Many viruses took decades to discover cures. You know that."

"I do." He nodded. "Yes."

"Then be patient and continue running your tests. A cure will present itself soon enough."

"Those viruses all had stages where testing showed a cure was at least possible. We are nowhere near close to figuring out whether there is a cure for this virus or not." He reached out to trace the thin web of ice that had formed on the window. "Same as we are no closer to stopping the time particles from escaping through the holes the Flash punched in the Speed Force during his last time jump."

"We will get there, Bruce." She spoke gently, but firmly. Confident not only in her opinions but in the abilities of those working hard to solve the world's dilemma. "I believe that between you, Luthor, Mr. Fox, and the rest of the League that a cure will not only be found, but that the holes in the Speed Force will be closed, and Flash returned safely to us."

A look of regret flickered across his face.

"I just wish I knew we could get Flash and Clark back."

Both eyebrows shot up at that.

"Is that what you have paced the floors about the last few nights? Getting Flash and Clark back from wherever they ended up?"

"It's part of it," he admitted with a grimace. "But it's not the only thing that has been on my mind the last few days."

Diana moved to sit on the bed.

"Then what is it that has been bothering you?"

Bruce limped over to take a seat beside her.

"It's many things, really."

"Such as?"

"It is seeing the world come apart at the seams, seeing friends suffer terrible losses..." Diana waited, knowing he would tell her what the real problem was in his own time. Finally, he sighed and said, "It's the Joker."

"You don't know he is back."

Bruce didn't seem inclined to speculate.

"No," he said seriously. "He's back." His fingers curled on the handle of his walking stick. "I'm sure of it. The samples that Raya sent here with Selina all confirm the presence of Joker's venom."

"That only proves that someone has found a way to either manufacture his Venom or knows how to make the toxin for themselves," she pointed out. "Has he been seen? Physically seen?"

"Physically, no."

"If he has not physically bend seen..." One dark brow arched. "Then how can you be sure that he has returned? This could be a copycat, Bruce."

"Raya left something else with the samples that confirm he's returned."

"What was it she left?"

Bruce reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed something he handed to her. It was a playing card, she saw. An ordinary playing card. Then she turned it over and saw a colorful jester smiling back at her. A Joker, she realized. The calling card of the Clown Prince of Crime. She read the words written on the card in bright red ink:

_Twinkle, twinkle, my dearest Bat, can you guess where I'm at?_

"By the gods..." she whispered as horror and fear washed over her in icy waves. "He  _is_  alive..."

"This is his endgame," Bruce said darkly. "This is what he's been planning."

"What do you mean?" Diana shook her head. "What is he planning?"

"To create an army of Jokerfied undead that he will release on the world. Starting," he said even as she gasped. "In Virginia."

The ramifications of a Jokerfied army were not lost upon Diana."

"What do we do?"

Not that she needed to ask. There was only one thing they could do.

"We stop him, Diana." He spoke now in that voice he cultivated for his alter-ego. "We stop him before he hurts any more innocent people."

Hearing that rasp, seeing his face become hard as stone told her one thing:  _Batman_  was back.


	17. Chapter 17

He knew Fin wasn't in the bedroom the second he strolled in. He didn't even need to glance at the bed to know the stubborn woman had smoothed the covers back into place. He didn't need to look to know that she fluffed the pillows before folding them beneath the comforter. A quick study of the room revealed she tidied up before taking herself off to where-ever-the-fuck her mulish lil' ass decided it needed to go.

None of it was what he told her to do before going to discuss the rules with that hunter fuck Harper brought in.

_Of fucking course, she didn't do what I told her to do_ , Negan groused as he walked over to place Lucille on the pillows stacked on the headboard.  _What the fuck did I expect? That she'd willingly wait here for me to get back?_

A voice whispered in the back of his head, 'You absolutely did expect her to wait here for you.'

It wasn't like the voice was completely wrong. He had anticipated her cute lil' ass waiting in bed for him. The whole time he was letting that hunter –  _Daryl_ , he amended silently – know he now owned him he spent envisaging how he'd soothe Fin's ruffled feathers.

'That's why you're pissed about her not being here,' that voice said. 'You wanted to indulge in a little hanky-panky before getting some shut-eye.'

Negan couldn't deny he hadn't been looking forward to a lil' dancing in the sheets. Fin falling asleep on top of him after lulling the snake to sleep was the highlight of his day.

However, her not being there to indulge his whims was only part of what was twisting his innards into knots. There was also the fact that she disobeyed his direct order. He, as well as Carson, told her to stay the fuck there and rest. He expected her to do exactly that.

He was King of this castle and his word was law.

However, Fin was also Fin.

Her willingly and knowingly  _obeying_  anything he told her would be sign the world was about to officially come to a fucking end. Normally, he got a tickle out of her willful refusal to bow to his command.  _I sometimes tell her to do shit just to get a rise out of her_. Getting Fin riled up was one of his favorite pastimes.

Especially since he always got to soothe those ruffled feathers once he got done screwing with her.

There was a limit to how much of her shit he'd tolerate, though.  _When she shows the fuck up with bruises on her jaw and down her back is when enough is enough_.

Not that Fin adhered to that ideology any more than she did to obeying.

Hell, no, that hardheaded woman had some ridiculous notion about  _bruises_  being part of the deal the world offered them. Not that she didn't have a point, he begrudgingly admitted. To live in this world, to survive it, one had to fight.

To fight meant risking life and limb. There was no guarantee that anyone stepping outside the walls of whatever they were living in when the sun came up in the morning would return home safe and sound when it set that evening. Life was no Nintendo game.

There wasn't a reset button to press, extra lives or checkpoints someone could start over from. Do something stupid and it was lights out, see ya, try again next lifetime.

Stupid was how many people got themselves killed in the early days of this shit. He saw dozens of moronic decisions after escaping the hospital with that kid.  _Never even learned the kid's name_ , he realized with a small pang.  _Really oughta have asked it_.

There hadn't exactly been time for introductions, though. Undead fucks had been crawling everywhere. Getting the fuck outta the hospital with their skin still intact took precedence over things like niceties.

Not that it mattered in the end.

One dumb move was all it took.

They stopped in the parking garage to take a breath, regroup, find a vehicle with enough gas to get them as far away from the hospital as they could get. He'd been imparting words of advice to the kid — thirteen being a crucial age in a boy's sexual development — but turned away to look at a row of cars in hopes of finding one that would get him and the kid the fuck outta Dodge.

Next thing, the kid was screaming his full head off as some undead fuck tore into his arm.

_As if he was some nice, juicy steak fresh off the grill._

Nothing he thought about doing would have saved the kid. He was a goner soon as that fucking fuck bit into him.

A victim of stupidity.

His as much as the kid's.

More dumb shits followed as the weeks went by. Paul and them buncha fucks in the woods. The couple who left their daughter behind to get torn apart by the undead because they didn't know what to do. The woman who abandoned her sick husband, Dewey because she didn't think there was any point in trying to help him. Endless tales of people who flipped their shit and left loved ones behind.

Like he left Lucille behind.

_Couldn't even put her down as I should have,_ he thought, gut clenching.  _I was shaking from killing them other fucks. I couldn't bring myself to go in there and do that shit to her. Had to get the kid to do it for me._

A kid who died less than half an hour later.

_Good deed gets repaid by being torn to death by some sick fuck._

He thought it was a load of horse shit then and he thought it the same now.  _Kid deserved better than he got, goddamn it_.

He reached his breaking point a few weeks after the wife who left her husband for dead. It came when a girl whose father sacrificed his life so she could fucking live ended up getting herself and her brother killed because she wasn't paying one fucking bit of attention to shit.

He left her outside that Walmart, sobbing her pretty little eyes out and bleeding from the bite to her throat.

To die.

To turn.

To wander aimlessly until some compassionate asshole came along to put her down. He no longer gave a fuck. He was tired of watching people die from stupidity. He decided to go it alone from then on. Numbers might be safer but not if every fucking body he came across ended up as chow.

Then Dwight found him sitting alone in the woods, roasting a rabbit he managed to shoot, and staring pensively into the fire. They talked shop while sharing that rabbit. Something in Dwight's manner convinced him to go back to where his wife —  _ex-wife_ , he silently amended with a faint smile — was staying with a bunch of other people.

One look at their faces told him that these people weren't like the other fucks he met. These people wanted to survive. They were willing to listen, work together, and do what the fuck needed doing. Nobody else was gonna die because they were a dumb piece of shit.

They needed someone to lead them, though. To teach them how. Show them the way. To make the decisions they didn't want too.

He decided it may as well be him.

Someone needed to take charge, to set rules, establish some boundaries.

If he was going to take the bull by the horns and bash in the skull of raping fucks?

Why shouldn't it be him who took up the role as leader?

He couldn't save his Lucille, but he could save these people. He could bring civilization back to the world. Establish order. Create consequences and hand out punishments for rule breakers.

Slowly, people pulled together. They worked together to turn the Sanctuary into a veritable fucking fortress. Crops got planted, ammunition found and stored, supplies and things obtained.

All because of him.

_He_  kept people alive.

_Her days running around footloose and fancy fucking free are over_ , he decided.  _She's gonna keep her ass here at the Sanctuary and let me worry about shit._

Not that Fin would agree to  _that_  willingly, either.

Not that he gave a shit about whether she agreed or not.

She had responsibilities. People needed her.  _I need her_. The thought brought him up short. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the side of the bed where she normally slept. A plethora of thoughts ran through his mind and taunted him with a truth he wasn't ready to admit but couldn't avoid.

Not when the truth was all around him.

Everywhere he looked he saw something that reminded him of Fin. Her clothes were folded next to his in the dresser. A few dresses hung beside his leather jacket in the small closet. Her jewelry, combs and the clips she used in her hair were laid out on the bathroom vanity. Her scent clung to the burgundy colored towels hanging on the rack in the bathroom. Her toothbrush was beside his in the holder.

Their lives were completely intertwined. She was his. She admitted as much when she announced to all and sundry a few months ago that she was his queen.

_Goddamnit_ , he groused as he gripped Lucille's smooth handle and carefully lifted her from her pillowy bed.  _I do need her_.

He needed her in ways he hadn't needed any woman but Lucille.

He couldn't deny that.

Not anymore.

After he left Lucille in that hospital, he no longer felt anything emotionally.

Not happiness. Not sadness. Not fear.

Even sex brought him no pleasure outside the physical. He was dead inside. That was good. That was fucking great. Far as he was concerned, not feeling shit was why he was alive when so many others were dead.

Then Fin strolled into his life.

Shit went kiddywampus from there.

With Fin, he felt alive.

She made him feel like the kind of man that classy broads like her and Lucille deserved. An honest, decent man who could commit himself to his wife and only his wife.

The kind of man he was until something broke inside him and convinced him it was okay to lie and screw around on her.

On his beautiful Lucille.

It took her getting sick to wake his ass up, to make him realize what he was doing, and how empty it left him feeling inside.

Only it was too little, too fucking late.

All the time he devoted to whatever the fuck her name was he could have spent with Lucille.

And what made shit worse? What made him feel even lower than a two-dollar whore giving hand jobs in back alleys? Having Lucille ask him why he chose her. The "sick one" as she called herself.

As if there was any other choice for him to make.

She was his everything.

And he left her to rot on a stinkin' hospital floor.

Fin tugged at him in ways he hadn't thought any woman, but Lucille could. Did he love her? That was the question that was no longer coming back with the resounding hell to the fucking no it once did.

He felt something for her that went beyond a deep and abiding desire to lose himself inside her for a few pleasurable hours. He missed her when she was gone. He enjoyed their teasing banter, heated debates, the quiet conversations they'd have about this fucked up mess they were living in.

Having her here at the Sanctuary for the last few months, preparing meals with her, playing with Jordan, and falling asleep with her curled up beside him every night settled him in ways he hadn't been since before this shit mess started.

Since before Lucille got sick.

It was more than the unimportant shit with Fin. Being there when she got scared and needed comfort outweighed food and clothing. Knowing she could turn to him when she was suffering moments of doubt, rely on him when shit was hitting the fan and she couldn't dig her ass out was more important than material goods.

Fin needed  _him._ She wanted  _him_. With her,  _he_  mattered. Having her assert her role as his queen and protector also did something to his heart.

It caused it to beat.

And that scared him shitless.

He couldn't lose Fin like he did Lucille. He just couldn't. It would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

_She's gonna start doing as I ordered once I find wherever she's scurried off too._

A voice in the back of his head said, 'Don't count on it.'

Negan heaved a sigh as frustration sizzled in his veins.

_Why can't she ever do what I say without putting up a fuss about it? I'd have less gray hairs if she'd just do what I tell her_.

Again, that voice replied.

'Because you'd find yourself bored as fuck if she did everything you said without protest. Same as you are with the rest of your wives.'

The voice wasn't wrong, he realized with a small fissure of surprise. He  _was_ bored with his other wives. And he'd grow bored with Fin if she did everything he told her without an ounce of lip.

Hell, the things that initially attracted him to her was her independence, tenacity, tough as nails exterior, and refusal to quit attitude.

Even her smart mouth made his balls tingle.

Fin challenged him in ways his other wives wouldn't dare. She didn't bow to his demands because she relied on him for her every want and need. Keeping  _him_  happy was something she did because  _she_  wanted too, not because she felt in any way obligated to do so.

She'd sooner tell him to go fuck himself before something because she felt compelled to do it.

_Lucille used to tell me to go fuck myself when she got pissed off at me_.

Lucille routinely called him out on his bullshit. If she lived and had they made it to the Sanctuary, she'd have questioned his decisions and challenged his orders. Lucille always spoke her mind. Even when he didn't want to hear what it was she wanted to say.

She wouldn't be any more afraid of him than Fin.  _She'd knock me on my ass if I tried to intimidate her into doing something I wanted_. Same as Fin did the one time he tried to strong-arm her into doing what he wanted.

Lucille didn't need him to take care of her any more than Fin, either.  _Well_ , he amended as his heart twisted with the never-gone grief or guilt he carried inside him.  _She didn't need me to take care of her until she got sick._

And he let her down by being a rotten shit of a husband.

Screwin' around on her.

Lying to her.

Focusing on his own wants and needs.

Not doing right by her.

Leaving her to rot on a bloodstained floor.

That was just the start of the crimes he committed against his Lucille. There were dozens more he could think of if he put his mind to it. Things he couldn't ever make right because big daddy reaper came along to take her from him before got the chance to make amends for all his bullshit.

_I'm not making the same mistakes with Fin_.  _I'm not gonna do her as I did Lucille._

No, he was gonna do every fucking thing he could to see that hardheaded woman survive this shit world.

He'd start with locating her cute lil' ass.

_And making her take shit easy as Carson told her she needed to start doing._

He turned to the man lurking in the doorway. If there was anyone who had an idea about where Fin might be, it was Fat Joey. The sorry shit tended to follow her around like a lovesick puppy.

"Where the fuck is she?"

"I, uh, don't know, Boss." Fat Joey scratched the back of his neck and sent a bewildered look at the empty bed. "I haven't seen Fin." He shifted his gaze back to him. "Not since earlier. When she was, uh, waiting for you in the hallway."

_So_ , he thought, fingers curling into his palms.  _She's gone and pulled her disappearing in the wind bullshit_.

Not like it was that much of a surprise.

He was almost positive the woman was related to Harry fucking Houdini. Tie her ass up and toss her in an old-style money vault and she'd be waiting behind him almost before the tumbler finished spinning.

"You didn't see her leave the bedroom after Carson and I left?"

"No." Fat Joey shook his head. "She was, uh, still here when I brought Lucille back. She's the one who put her on her pillows."

Negan gave a slow nod as he searched the room for some clue about where Fin might have gone. There was nothing openly obvious.  _Why did I expect there would be any clues about where she is?_ The other thing the woman was good at doing was covering up her tracks.

"And then?"

"And then?" Confusion flickered across Fat Joey's round face. "What do you mean, Boss?"

"And what did she do after she put Lucille on her pillows?"

"Uh, she asked me to take Jordan to see Amber and her mom." A small, childlike grin tugged at Joey's lips. "They're gonna watch those Looney Toons tapes I found when I was out setting charges a few days ago."

Negan didn't really give a shit about what they were gonna watch. The only part that mattered was that Fin wasn't there with them. That left only one other place she might be.  _And her cute lil' ass better not be down there._

"Go check on that hunter fuck," he ordered brusquely. "Make sure her royal highness hasn't let the asshole out of his cage."

"You mean the hunter?"

Negan kept telling himself that Fat Joey was useful. He kept the herd at bay. He just needed a cattleprod up the ass sometimes.

"Yes, I mean the fucking hunter."

"Oh, uh, I thought so," Fat Joey said. "Well, uh, Dwight's with the hunter now, actually."

"And?"

"And I, uh, just saw 'em." He shook his head. "Fin wasn't with 'em."

Negan's jaw clenched.  _She better not have left the fucking Sanctuary after I expressly told her not too_.

Again, that voice came to him. 'And that's exactly why she would leave the Sanctuary. Because you told her not too.'

_Fucking fuckity fuck_...

He had a goddamn good idea about where she took her ass off, too.

"Go find me that Harper fuck she hangs around with it."

"Sure thing, Boss."

He watched Fat Joey lumber away through narrowed eyes.

_She better not have gone to see Prick_... he thought as he made his way over to a chair to wait.  _There will be hell to pay if she has._

Rules were rules for a reason. Prick broke them when he chose to attack his people. When he chose to murder his men asleep in their beds. When his actions could have cost him the only thing in this fucking fucked up world that mattered.

_Five fucking minutes,_  he realized as he sank into the chair.  _If she stuck around that satellite depot five fucking minutes longer_...

He didn't bother finishing that thought.


	18. Chapter 18

Daryl jolted awake when he heard something or someone moving around outside the small supply room serving as his jail cell. He glanced at the door but could barely make out its outline. Something slid beneath the door and bounced against the knuckles of his right hand. He moved his fingers and met something small, smooth. Like a playing card.

He held it to the faint light creeping beneath the door. A joker with a bone-white face, a toothy grin, and short green hair stared back at him. Across the front of the card was one word written three times in red:  _HA_.

_Who'n hell is this_? He wondered as he stared at the card.

"Hello, hello, my little friend…" an unfamiliar voice whispered, startling him. "Soon, soon, all your misery will come to a glorious end!"

Then there was a snort of laughter that turned into a giggle. Eventually, it became a chuckle that echoed for a long time after whoever moved on. Who the cacklin' sumbitch was and why he gave him some playing card with the word  _HA_ written on it over and over tumbled around inside his head.

It meant somethin'. He knew it did.  _Mule said somethin' 'bout cards like these. Said they were the callin' card of some clown she dealt with back home._ A frown puckered his brow as he turned the card over.  _What'n hell name she call his ass by_?

Boots in the hall outside his cell interrupted his musings. His gut clenched as he imagined the laughing man coming back to fulfill his promise. His body tensed, muscles bunching into one tight ball of expectation.  _Ain't going out without a fight_ …

He froze when another voice he didn't recognize rasped, "Why is he here?"

He didn't have a clue who the man was but he could tell the man was dangerous just by the tone of his voice.

_Can't be as bad as that ball bat wielding sumbitch_. Nobody could be as bad as Negan. A hollow thump, like the one a watermelon made when it got cracked open disturbed the silence. A tangy, coppery aroma he wouldn't know how to forget if he tried filled his nostrils. What happened to Glenn and Abraham was his fault. He was to blame for their deaths. Had he not been a selfish shit...

Guilt pooled in his belly; burned beneath his skin. Something stirred to life within him. He had no idea what it was, just that it was connected to what happened to his family. The pressure built the longer he sat there, bubbling just beneath the grief and shock.

The stress of everything intermingled with the rampant emotions flowing through him until he thought he would tear at the seams. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he had to…  _had to_  keep himself in check. Rick and the others were still counting on him. Mule needed him. He couldn't do anything that would 'cause Negan to send him to whatever hell Merle was frequenting.

After what felt like several minutes where nothing happened, Daryl started to think the man, as well as whoever he had spoken too, had gone. He was about to settle back down when the man rasped, "Why is the bastard here in the Sanctuary and not at the Foundry." Another pause. "Exactly as I ordered?"

Chills danced along Daryl's spine, tingled in his gut.  _Who the hell is this asshole_? he wondered.  _And what'n hell does he want with me?_

It wasn't like he was anybody special. He was just some redneck asshole who made the mistake of pissing off an even bigger asshole. Somebody moved in front of the door and blocked out the light. Anticipation shivered along his naked flesh. Any second and that door would open. He didn't know who was on the other side.

He prepared himself for the worst.

"Negan said the bloke owed him for murderin' some of his men." There was a rustling of cloth, a creaking of leather. "Figured keepin' the bastard happy was my main priority."

Daryl didn't recognize the second speaker any more than he did the first. Each spoke with some sorta foreign accent. Most he could tell was that neither was from the United States.  _Second asshole kinda sounds like that shitface tweaker Merle was supplyin' with pills a couple of years ago_.

That hophead had been from Melbourne or Sydney or someplace like that. He always thought the shithead sounded like he had an entire bag of cotton balls or something shoved in his mouth or something.

"I don't care what Negan says the man owes him. When I give an order..." Leather again creaked. "I expect you to follow it. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah, Boss."

_Boss_? One eyebrow winged up at that. Who the hell is this prick? And what exactly is he the boss of?

"Has there been any attempt to rescue the hunter?"

"No."

"There has been no attempt to rescue him?"

There was a hint of surprise in that gruff tone. As if nobody comin' to rescue his ass was that big a shock.

"None."

A faint hum had goosebumps popping up all over Daryl's body. "Now that is interesting," the man murmured. "That's very, very interesting, in fact."

"Why's that so interestin'?" Something wet splashed upon the tile. "Fenix has always been an unpredictable one. She's like Batman in that regard. You never know what they'll do." A pause had the balls in Daryl's stomach doing the hokey-pokey. "Or when they'll show up."

"She is as unpredictable as Batman." Daryl could almost imagine the man nodding his head. "But I still expected her or one of her family members to make at least one rescue attempt. That she hasn't means she's protecting someone else."

There was movement and then the light was back, indicating that the second man had stepped away from the door.

"Maybe she doesn't care for the hunter as much as you think."

"Oh, no," the first man purred. "That bastard is definitely someone she cares deeply about."

"How do you know she actually cares for the bloke?" Clothing again rustled. "Seems like if she did that she would have made some sorta attempt to have rescued him from Negan."

Daryl knew the reason Mule hadn't tried to rescue his sorry ass. He made sure to tell that Harper fella before he got stripped and tossed in here that he was to tell the fool woman not to save his ass.  _Told him to tell her to focus on keepin' Rick and the others safe_ , he told the men outside.  _That's why she ain't tried to rescue my ass._

"I have seen the hunter. I know she holds him dear to her heart. She will release him eventually."

"Bastard just looks like some dirty outback shithead to me." The words didn't even hurt. He got called much worse while growing up. "Don't seem like there would be any sorta appeal for a woman like her. Not with as much class as she got."

"You have never met her brother." The words caused his ass to itch. "If you had, you would understand just why this man is so important to her."

A tingle started at the base of Daryl's neck and traveled the length of his spine at those words. Something about Mule's brother sparked something inside his brain. A memory teetered just below the surface but this time he couldn't shake the damn thing loose.

"I've run into Red Robin and Robin," the second man sneered. "Even met that boy of hers a time or two. This bloke ain't nothing like any of 'em."

"He is very much like the Red Hood, though."

Mule had called someone by that name. Said he was her partner. When he pushed for more information, she admitted he was also her brother.  _What'n hell she say his name is_?

He let his mind wander as he tried to recall when and where she said it. It was while they were hunkered down in her house. He had been cleaning his crossbow when she said something about him being just like her brother. Which brother was it? That was the question. She had two. Both younger. His brow puckered as he tried to recall their names.

One was Timothy. He recalled that one because there had been warmth and amusement in her voice when she talked about him. However, that wasn't who she was talking about him being like. No, she specifically mentioned her other brother. The one who tended to feel like an outsider.

_Jason_. The name popped into his mind faster than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. She told him he was like her younger brother, Jason.  _Said I was an older, harder, stubborn, moodier, and mouthier version of her younger brother, Jason_.

Was the pot calling the kettle black in his mind. Mule was a prissy little shit when she set her mind to it.  _It's why Merle nicknamed her Miss Priss in the first damn place_.

Who the man out in the hall was and how he knew Mule was his sole focus. Something told him the answer to that question was lurking somewhere beneath all the bullshit swirling around in his damn fool head.

Not that it mattered none. Whoever the man was, there was one thing that he wasn't gonna do. Sumbitch ain't gonna get his hands on Mule.  _I'll find a way to kill the asshole, first_.

That or he'd sure as shit die tryin'.

…

"I know Fenix." That dark baritone rippled along her flesh, chilling her. It was a voice designed to command respect and loyalty from those in his service as much as it was one that could bring on waves of mind-numbing fear for those who didn't. "I have seen the hunter. I know why she holds him so dear. She will come for him eventually."

"Bastard just looks like some dirty outback shithead to me," the other man said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Don't seem like there would be any sorta appeal for a woman like her. Not with as much class as she got."

"You have never met her brother." The words were as dark and menacing as the man who spoke them. "If you had, you would understand just why this man would be so important to her."

"I've run into Red Robin and Robin. I've even met that boy of hers a time or two. This bloke ain't nothing like 'em."

"He is very much like Red Hood, though."

The speakers, two men, stood outside the cell that Negan ordered Daryl locked in. Sherry watched from the opposite end of the long, dark hallway, fingers curled into the corner of the wall, and with a kernel of trepidation doing flip-flops in her belly.

A burning type of silence fell all around her. Even the things in the yard were silent for a change. Only the heated conversation going on between the two disturbed the relative peace and tranquility. Nobody else was out and about at this early hour. Most of the Sanctuary's inhabitants were all tucked away in their beds and dreaming the dreams of the hopeful.

She wouldn't be about if not that something - a strange, nagging sort of sensation - woke her and told her she needed to check Daryl. She snuck out of the room she shared with Negan's other wives just as the first streaks of color spread across the sky.  _And I got here at just the right time_ , she thought as she studied the men through narrowed eyes.

She paid special attention to the black and orange body armor they wore as well as to how many weapons they carried in the various pouches and holsters their suits had built into them. The smaller man was Liam.

She had spoken to him once when he was here to deliver a message to Negan. He was originally from Melbourne, Australia, worked as a member of their intelligence agency until right before this shit started taking over the world and he signed on to work for a man he called  _Deathstroke_.

_Is that him_? she wondered as she studied the taller of the two.  _Is he Deathstroke_?

Something told her it was. Sherry took careful note of his appearance, telling herself that the more details she could recall, the better.  _Everything I remember about him helps Fin._

His dark hair and lean build reminded her of Negan's. However, this man's profile was far from the ruggedly attractive one Negan possessed. His hair was damp from the light rain that had fallen and there were small patches of silver at his temples and in his thick goatee that seemed to wink at her whenever the light hit it.

His nose was straight, the nostrils slightly flared, his face smooth except for a few faint lines at the corners of his eyes -  _well, eye_ , she corrected when he turned his head and she spied the patch covering the other. His mouth curved into a smile that was arrogantly sensual.

He hadn't shaved, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw and over those angular cheeks turned what was already an attractive face into something edgy, sexy, strong.

It was the look in that one eye that threatened to suck her into the deep, dark web surrounding him. That eye overflowed with a restless intensity, with an emptiness she recognized as loneliness, and burned with a hunger that left her belly quivering and her pulse kicking like a mule.

It was, she knew, a purely instinctive and biological response. Just because she traded her soul when she became one of Negan's wives didn't mean she didn't know desire when she felt it. No, she didn't respond to it - that would have been beyond disastrous - but she did not bother fighting it. The ability to feel anything after the shit this world had done was a miracle.

_D told Daryl that day in the forest that people trade everything until they got nothing left except existing. I don't want to live like that. I don't want to just exist. And I'm tired of trading away everything for safety, for knowing that I and D are safe_.

This wasn't the life they planned. D had told her things were gonna be better after Negan joined their group. They were gonna be okay. She would see. She had known things were gonna go bad and quick. Negan's torment was the type of sorrow and anger that only grief could cause.

Who hadn't lost someone, though? Nobody was safe from whatever the hell it was turning people into monsters.

However, this man's demons were much different from Negan's. He didn't carry around a baseball bat named for his dead wife. And he didn't need to swagger to look intimidating. No, a sorta animal magnetism rolled off this man with every move he made. Everything about this tall, dark and sinfully handsome stranger screamed danger.

"What'n hell are you doing here?"

Sherry jumped at hearing D's voice. Beneath the momentary flash of surprise, however, lurked a warning about snooping around the Sanctuary. People who stuck their noses where they didn't belong always ended up getting them cut off.

"Honey? What'n hell are you doing down here?"

Sherry slowly turned to Dwight, saw the slight hint of suspicion darkening his eyes and knew she needed to give him a very good reason for why she was in this hallway. The only explanation she could think to give him was the truth.

"I had a bad feeling wake me up."

One brow lifted. "What sorta bad feeling?"

"Like something was wrong and I needed to come check Daryl." She nodded towards the two men standing outside the blue-gray door. "Seems I was right 'cause they sure don't look friendly, D."

"They ain't friendly," he told her in hushed tones. "That one-eyed sumbitch is the one been supplyin' Negan with weapons and shit."

She already suspected as much.

"I think he means to take Daryl back with him."

Dwight scoffed at that. "Negan ain't gonna let him do that."

"Who says he's gonna ask him?"

That stopped Dwight from saying whatever he was about to say. He looked at her, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.

"You think he gonna kill Negan to take Daryl?"

"Not kill him, no."

"Then what?"

"I think he's gonna use him to draw out that woman he's been wanting to find."

Dwight chewed on that for a minute.

"There ain't been no sign of this Fenix since she captured that prick, Askalov."

"That's 'cause she's been here in the Sanctuary since then." Sherry only felt a momentary remorse for betraying what was told her in confidence. "Who do you think Fin is, D? She's Fenix."

" _Fin_  is Fenix?"

"She is." Honey nodded. "Yes."

Dwight stared at her with an incredulous look on his face for several seconds. Finally, he recovered enough to ask, "How'n hell you know she's Fenix?"

"She told me." Again, there was a momentary pang. Sherry soothed her conscience by telling it that it was either trust D and enlist his help or see Fin get outed and hurt. "After I agreed to become Negan's wife she came to me. Offered to send me and you to her group, the Sirens."

"The Sirens? Ain't they the ones who hit our supply trucks?"

"She always gives the supplies back."

_Most of 'em anyway_ , she added silently.

"Negan ain't gonna like it, still." He pulled her down a set of stairs when the men's voices drew close to their hiding spot. "He ain't gonna like it, one bit."

"He gonna like being forced to turn her over even less," she pointed out. "She's his. And you know how he is when it comes to what's his."

"He gonna have a shit fit is what he gonna do." Dwight closed his eyes. More a long blink than anything. "And try to start shit with the sumbitch that is gonna end up gettin' a lotta folks killed."

"That's why you need to get to Fin and tell her that this fella she been trying to avoid is here in the Sanctuary."

"Me?" Both eyebrows shot up. "Why me? Why can't you do it?"

"'Cause I need to go and tell the others who work with her that he's here." At his questioning look, she explained. "They gotta disappear so that he don't figure out she's here."

"She's got Sirens inside the Saviors?"

Sherry almost smiled. If not for the seriousness of the situation she might have teased him about how easy it was for wives to sneak things right under their husband's noses.  _Like when I surprised you with that big ole dog for your birthday._

"D, she has Sirens in all his depots and supply houses."

D mulled that over silently.

"She been playing a game of chess with him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he said. "In chess, the Queen can take a lone King on her own if the player sets up the move just right." His brow furrowed. "Otherwise, she gotta work with a pawn or another King to force the King into a checkmate."

"Who says she been playing this game of chess against Negan?"

Dwight looked at her, his gaze pensive.

"You think she is planning to use him to force this prick into surrender?"

"She is his Queen," she reminded him. "And what have you always told me about the role of the Queen in chess?"

"She's the most powerful piece 'cause she makes the most moves and does everything necessary to protect the only piece on the board that matters to her: her King."

"And who protects the Queen?"

"The rest of the pieces on the board."

"And who are those pieces?"

"Us." He sighed as he glanced over his shoulder. "A'ight, look, I'll go and warn Fin about this asshole being here. You go back to the room you stayin' in with Negan's other wives. Don't say nothin' to nobody about any of this."

"Fin isn't here," she told him. "She left with Harper for Alexandria awhile ago."

"I'll go to Alexandria then and tell her to stay away until this asshole leaves."

"Just be careful, D."

He looked like he was gonna say something but finally just nodded before he headed down the stairs. Sherry watched him go, her heart heavy with the guilt weighing on her soul.

_I'm sorry, D,_ she said silently.  _I did what I did because I didn't want you to die. Now you've become everything you didn't want to be, and it's all my fault. I'm gonna make it right, though. Somehow. I'm gonna make it right. I promise._


	19. Chapter 19

"Care to explain why you're sneaking around my Sanctuary?"

Negan posed the question a full twenty minutes after answering Slade's summons. Slade ignored his question. His attention was firmly fixed on one thing: getting answers.

"Why is the hunter here at your Sanctuary?"

It was the second time he asked him that. The first had been while he and the smarmy-mouthed bastard were standing outside the room the hunter was being kept in.

Negan had yet to supply him with a satisfactory answer. His lack of compliance did not sit well with Slade. The man was entirely too bold and brash.  _It's time he learned his place_.

"He's here because he owes me for having killed my men."

"I thought I told you I wanted the sheriff, his boy, and the hunter brought to me."

The room fell into a tense silence as Negan, reclining in an overstuffed armchair, his hand curled around the smooth end of a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, stared up at him.

"So, here I am, being friendly as a fucking fuck on a fuck free day while you're playing the part of the uptight guy at a dick-sucking contest." He indicated the chair behind Slade with a slight nod of his head. "You wanna sit the fuck down?" A small, tight grin played about the bastard's mouth. "Or you wanna flip a coin to see which of us is gonna give the other head first?"

Anger at Negan's crass insolence threatened to erupt from Slade but he tamped it down and took the indicated seat.

"This better?"

"Much fucking better." Negan sat back in his chair. "Now, what were you asking?"

"Why is the hunter here at your Sanctuary and not been delivered to me at the Foundry?"

"Because he is here," was Negan's cool reply. "The sorry shit was brought to me a few hours ago."

"And should have been instantly delivered to me when you realized who he is."

"I didn't see any fucking need to wrap his ass up and deliver him to you."

Slade's fingers curled around the arm of his chair until the knuckles cracked from the pressure. It was the only thing keeping him from launching across the short distance and grabbing Negan by the throat.

"I have repeatedly told you that I want the sheriff, his boy, and the hunter brought to me if and when they're found."

"You also said you wanted the fucking fucks brought to you unharmed. Or have you forgotten about that particular part of your request?"

"No, I have not forgotten about that part of my request." Slade breathed deeply – once, twice, three times – and refocused on why it was he was there. To get his daughter from the woman who was holding her. "Them being in perfect health is not my main concern or priority. Having them delivered to me is all I cared about." He regarded Negan with as much calm as he could manage at that time. Which wasn't much. "Exactly what part of that was not clear enough for you to understand?"

"Oh, I under-fucking-stood all of it," Negan assured him as he took a steaming mug from a heavyset man who managed to materialize from out of nowhere. "I understood every goddamn word you said."

Slade declined the cup offered to him with a wave of his hand. The liquid steaming in that chipped mug might have passed for coffee by a man of Negan's standards, but it was little better than pisswater by Slade's. A hesitant look twisted the man's flabby face. He glanced over at his boss with a quizzical frown. Negan indicated for him to leave with a nod of his head. The man didn't hesitate to beat it.

"Then if you understood what exactly it was that I had requested..." Slade paused for dramatic effect. "Why is it then that I do not have the sheriff, his boy or the hunter in my possession?"

"Well, excuse the fucking fuckity fuck outta me." Negan set his mug of coffee on the arm of his chair and crossed his feet at the ankles. "I coulda fucking swore that this here partnership between us operated under a scratch your back, you scratch mine sorta deal. Had I known you were gonna give me the ole reach around..." He sent Slade a lopsided grin. "I'da had you buy me breakfast, first."

Rage bubbled beneath Slade's skin at Negan's impudence. The bastard needed to start minding his tone and his manners. Not that he would. Most men pissed themselves when they found themselves the recipients of his undivided attention. This man? Didn't even flinch. If not for his present annoyance with the slippery-tongued bastard, he might have found himself impressed.

There was ice in Negan's veins. There was a keen intellect and cunningness in the depths of his dark eyes a man like him could appreciate. With the right amount of training, the man could make a formidable mercenary. Slade felt a momentary interest chip away at his vexation.

Molding Negan into his image, shaping all that untapped potential into something that would truly strike terror into the hearts of those who crossed his path appealed to him. Training Negan as he trained Oliver Queen would give him a break from the tedium. It'd give him an outlet for the pent-up frustration always simmering just below the surface.

He decided his first lesson would be reminding Negan about who it was that he worked for.

"Our partnership is one where you give me whatever I ask you for." A muscle tick in Negan's jaw was his only outward reaction to those words. "And what I asked for was the hunter, boy, and sheriff delivered to me at my Foundry as soon as they were located." He dropped his voice an octave. "And I strongly suggest that you give me a plausible reason for why that was not done."

"Now, you see, that's where you are mistaken." Negan unfolded himself from his slouch and leaned forward. Subtly intimidating and openly threatening. Had Slade been any other sort of man, he might have found himself shivering at the cold rage on his whiskered face. "One. I'm not your bitch. I won't roll over and beg when you snap your fingers. Two. The hunter is here because he fucking well owes me for the shit he and his people pulled." A slight smile curled the ends of his lips. "I like the fucking fuck. He's got balls of steel." He sat back and crossed his legs at the ankles once more. "So, I'm keeping him."

Slade's fingers itched to curl themselves around the man's throat and squeeze until his eyes popped out of their sockets. He banked the urge, swallowed his rage and did his best to stay focused on his agenda.

"And the sheriff? His boy?"

"If they were traveling with that hunter fuck then they're mine, too." A small smile accompanied those words. "They are now in service to me."

"This…"

"…is the new fucking world order." Negan's face went hard as stone. "And I am the goddamn King of it. You don't mess with the new world order. And you sure as shit do not cross me." He reached over and stroked the end of a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. "You under-fucking-stand me?"

Oh, Slade understood exactly what the man was saying. He knew what would happen to anyone foolish enough to cross Negan. It was the same thing that happened when anyone crossed  _him_. Slade lifted his head, intending to tell the man who, but the second their eyes met, there was a clash.

Slade almost swore he heard it in his head. The sound two swords made when struck against each other in battle. The man had balls. Slade had to give him that much. There were not many who would speak to him in such a coarse and blunt way as Negan. Even fewer existed who would think to issue him such a blatant warning. The few who had quickly met their maker.

Ah, but fear wasn't a luxury this man could afford. Not in a world rife with death and corruption. Only the strong were going to survive this cold and hard world they lived in. Something Negan knew and understood. He ruled his Sanctuary with an iron-fist and a clearly established set of rules. Slade couldn't say he approved of everything Negan did, but he couldn't deny the man's ruthless ways were not effective.

Rules maintained order. They kept people alive. Nothing mattered if you and everyone around you were dead. Negan ensured his, as well as everyone else's survival by making clear what the consequences would be for those who broke his rules. Or threatened his established order. He would need to make nice with the bastard if he wanted to convince the man to release the hunter to him.

"You have made yourself perfectly clear."

"Good," Negan said with a slight nod. "Then shall we discuss business?"

"The hunter was brought here to your Sanctuary while the sheriff and his son, I presume, were returned to their home." One dark brow lifted. "What is the logic behind that decision?"

"There was no logic involved. The hunter was brought to me by one of my men."

"One of your men?" At his nod, Slade asked, "Who?"

"Fuck calls himself Harper."

_Harper._   _As in Roy Harper. Close associate and ally of Oliver Queen_. This news was indeed promising. The tidbit would cost him an extra case of munitions and medical supplies. Things that Slade knew the people living in this converted factory needed for their survival. He counted the price worth it for this bit of information.

"Has Fenix been seen in the last few days?"

"Oh, she came out of her little hidey-hole to fucking fuck with my men and steal my goddamn supplies a week ago." Negan's lips spread into a smile. "Gotta admit that my balls tingle whenever she shows up to fuck with my men and steal my shit. Especially since she always gives it fucking back."

"Her morality is ingrained in her," Slade replied. "It is as much a part of her as the man who trained her."

"You have no fucking idea how much I like this woman. See, I've met a lot of attractive women in my day, and I've screwed a whole bunch of 'em. I go for all kinds . . . And I do mean  _all_  kinds. But this badass chick thing this Fenix has got going on. . . shit . . . it's really fucking working for me."

Slade ignored his innuendo.

"Has Fenix surfaced anywhere else?"

He kept his manner and tone nonchalant. As if the information wasn't of the greatest importance.

"This morning." Negan lifted his cup to his mouth. Took a long swallow of the rapidly cooling brew. "She beat the absolute shit out of some of my men as they were going to pay the fine fucks at Hilltop a little visit."

Hilltop was where the man Fenix saved as a boy from that demented clown resided. This news sounded even more promising. Raya was leaving herself vulnerable to discovery.  _And capture._ There was just one small bit of doubt plaguing him.

"Are you sure it was Fenix and not my daughter posing as her?"

It had not pleased him to learn Rose had taken to dressing as Fenix in recent months. It was done for the same purpose as Grayson or one of the other brats filling in whenever Wayne was indisposed. It made sure people knew they were out there and watching.

"That's for you to find out." Negan lowered his mug. "My job is to tell you when and where she was last seen."

"How do you know it was Fenix then?" One brow winged up. "What makes you certain it was Fenix and not my daughter."

"She had a man with her that one of my men overheard her call," a pause. " _Red Blunder_."

Feral joy sprang to life inside Slade at hearing that particular nickname. If Red Robin had been at the Hilltop, it meant Raya had been there, as well.

"So, Red Robin was there with Fenix," he rumbled. "Well, now, that's very interesting." A smile, a real one, graced his lips for the first time in months. "And this was outside the Hilltop community?"

"It sure as shit was."

Her other sightings had been outside the Kingdom. Who she was protecting there, Slade had no idea. And he did not care. Whoever was at the Kingdom was not important. No, only the sheriff, his boy, and the hunter were what mattered. They were who she was going to protect with every fiber of her being. He unfolded his long body and got up to slowly pace the small area behind his armchair.

"So, if the sheriff and his boy are anywhere," he mused, "it's either in this Hilltop community or the one you most recently acquired."

"Your Fenix also beat the shit outta them fucks Luthor sent after they fucking threatened the future little serial killer in the making."

"And you assume that the boy is the one I am looking for."

"Why, yes, I do. And…" His tone now was smug. "I sure as shit am right, now, aren't I?"

Slade glanced at him from over one shoulder. His  _temporary_  partner lounged in his chair, perfectly at ease in his surroundings, and seemingly confident in his safety.  _And why shouldn't he be_? Slade thought bitterly.

Negan's converted factory was the height of luxury in this post-apocalyptic era. Even the fancy high-rise apartment buildings found in the ritzy uptown neighborhoods of cities like Gotham, Metropolis and Star City failed to offer the comforts this former mill did.

Outside, the building was surrounded by a wall of infected stuck on poles and spears dug into the ground and affixed to concrete cinder blocks.

Inside, the surfaces were hard, the edges sharp, cold. Colors were mixed - ivory, charcoal, and taupe.

Disinfectant perfumed the air and told Slade louder than words that Negan expected his compound be kept clean, his clothes laundered and his people compliant. However, the books stacked in neat rows on the shelves lining the wall behind the armchairs revealed a man with an eclectic, and yet, sophisticated taste.

Negan appeared a boorish and brutish clod, but there were a keen intellect and sharp wit lurking beneath that veneer of the laid-back bully. The man was an anomaly. A very dangerous and unpredictable one. His taut posture suggested he was agitated about...  _something_. And with a man who was as prone to bouts of physical mayhem and violence as Negan was? That was never a good thing.

"Shit, ain't gonna lie," he said before Slade could say anything. "I got hornier than a three-peckered billy-goat when I heard about that shit." His grin stretched from ear-to-ear. "Wouldn't mind a threesome with this Fenix and Lucille. Have a feeling it would be an experience none of us would forget."

The serpent alive inside of him hissed as it tortured him with images of Negan running his hands, his lips over Raya's small, tight body. Short flashes soon became full-bodied visions of her beneath the bastard, moving under him, against him. Damp skin, like sun-kissed gold, slid over ivory. Eyes nearly black with desire widened, and swollen lips, parted.

He could hear the sound of her breath, the catch, and release, the soft gasps, the slight whimpers. He could almost smell her, that haunting scent of jasmine that always made him think of forbidden dances and hot Australian nights. It was almost more than he could stand.

Wasn't Oliver Queen stealing away the affections of one woman he cared for enough? Was he to lose another to a man who routinely flaunted how he screwed multiple women because he saw no point in being faithful to one?

Well, he couldn't have her.

He'd see the bastard dead, first.

"Don't you dare touch her." His body coiled, primed to leap across the short distance separating he and Negan. "You keep your hands off her. You understand me?"

Negan's eyes glinted with a warning that Slade ignored. Though the man would fight valiantly, his brute force would be no match for his decades of experience and skill level. Even Oliver Queen struggled to beat him in hand-to-hand combat.

"Well." All humor fled Negan's voice. "Then I guess we need to negotiate a trade here, don't we?"

"A trade?"

"The hunter for your Fenix."

"No."

"Now, see, I think you need to understand something here." Negan hefted the bat resting against his chair. "If it had been anybody else who pulled that shit, they would get an introduction to Lucille here."

Slade took a step forward and dropped his voice an octave.

"You introduce Fenix to that bat of yours and—"

"I don't enjoy hurting women," Negan coldly cut in. "Just want to make that shit clear from the get-go. I don't like it one goddamn bit. I don't allow that fucking fucked up shit here. The fact is, though, she injured my men. A whole damn lot of them. More than I'm comfortable with. I'm thinking a fair trade would be her agreeing to become one of my wives. Normally, when I choose a wife, the process is completely voluntary. It's an honor to be with me. Women no longer have to earn points to trade for goods and services. However, in this case..."

"She will not become one of your wives." His rage building, Slade took another step towards the bat-wielding bastard. "You understand me? She will not become one of your wives."

"All right, listen. It's an emotional moment, I get it. The facts are fucking clear, though. She attacked my goddamn men. And I do not appreciate her doing that. Those people work for me. They provide for me and every asshole here. They can't do that if they're laid up in the goddamn infirmary with broken bones and all, now, can they? I'm not growing a garden here. I need my people to work. I need my men to keep an eye on things for me."

"Then what do you propose as a satisfactory solution to this problem? Because her becoming one of your wives will never happen. Do you understand me?"

The corner of Negan's lips quirked upwards.

"The hunter..." A plethora of thoughts lurked behind Negan's dark eyes. What the man was thinking was anybody's guess. Slade just wished he would state what he wanted. Negan seemed to sense his impatience for he smiled before saying, his voice like velvet, " _Daryl,_ stays the fuck here and works her goddamn debt off for her."

Slade's wanted nothing more than to launch himself at the bastard and wipe the smug smirk off his face. He banked that urge, ordered himself to exercise patience, to remember exactly why he forged a partnership with Negan in the first place.

Raya had done an admirable job of keeping a low profile. For three years, she kept herself and his daughter safely out of his reach. She finally made a mistake when she lost her earring. She revealed where she was and who she was with.

He just didn't know what incarnation of herself she was using. To that end, he needed Negan. He needed him to spook her out into the open. Then he could grab her. Once he had her in his grasp, he would no longer need Negan.

Disposing of the man would be his greatest joy.

"Done," he said as he reached into his pocket to extract the earring Don had given him. He tossed it to Negan who glanced at it after catching it. His expression was more affably curious than it was anything else. "Give her earring to the bastard as a reminder for why he is here and serving as your dog."

He turned then and stalked from the room.


	20. Chapter 20

Negan watched Slade stalk from his office with a smile. The one-eyed bastard was seeing red. Not that he gave a shit. Slade Wilson needed to learn that he did  _not_  own him. The one-eyed sheep fucker wasn't gonna use him like a hooker in a dark alley. No fucking way.

_Well_ , he amended as his mind drifted into thoughts about the woman currently missing.  _I'll gladly let your cute lil' ass use me until I'm_ _shooting fucking dust._  Part of him wished Fin were there. Having her perched on his lap while he told Slade where he could go and how he could get there would just be the icing on the cake.

"My patience has run out, Negan," Slade announced without turning. "I will be back in three days with the weapons and medicine you demand as part of our agreement. I suggest you have an answer about where my daughter is being kept or that you have the sheriff, his boy or her mother here when I return."

The threat of what would happen should he not do as ordered hung on him like a cheap suit. Negan didn't let it ruffle his feathers. Why should he? It was just the prick's way of re-establishing how he was the alpha male in their relationship. Well, he'd simply remind the prick about how mistaken he was about that shit.

"Hey," he called out as he settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "I've got a big fucking package here between my legs with your name on it."

Slade visibly stiffened. Negan could tell by the looks the three assholes who came with him all shot at each other that this was clearly an uncommon occurrence. Nobody spoke to their boss like that. Well, he wasn't a nobody and all the shit — the swords, guns, and other stuff crammed into the pockets — Slade carried in that fancy ass fucking outfit he wore didn't mean fucking shit to him.

To the one-eyed bastard's credit, however, he didn't lose his shit. Nope, the asshole merely stood there, his back ramrod straight, curling and uncurling his fists at his sides. Negan could well imagine how much he would love to use those fists on him. And he knew that Slade knew that he knew he wanted to use those fists on him.  _Fucking sucks, don't it, asshole?_

"You wanna spank me, don'chu? Heh, you'll have a whole different sorta hot load on your hands if you do it right."

The men out in the hall shuffled back and forth as his taunt echoed throughout the small office. He heard their nervous whispers to each other, saw them cast fearful glances at the man they served. Negan felt an immense satisfaction at being the direct cause of their uneasy states. It was what they fucking deserved for coming into his castle, making demands of his men, and acting like they were King Shits.

_Only one man around this castle who can order my men around, you sorry shits_ , he told them as he waited for Slade to reply.  _And I have just let you know who that man is._

"I advise that you do not continue to test me further," Slade warned in a low, dark tone. "I guarantee that you will not like having me as an enemy."

"That so?" Negan snorted a laugh. "Well, I am abso-fucking-lutely positive that I've got more wood than you can handle."

A scowl was sent over one shoulder. Negan merely winked at him and enjoyed when that eye narrowed into a thin slit.  _Who the fuck says pissing off people ain't a whole shitload of fun_? The only thing that'd be more fun to him at that moment was cornering Fin's cute lil' ass and kissing her until they both saw stars.

"I assure you that those who've crossed me have found they do not live very long."

It was a battle of wills. A test of might. Two alpha males competing for dominance. He knew it, Slade knew it, all the fuckers standing out in the hall and listening to their exchange knew it. Negan's fingers curled around Lucille, drawing cool, calming comfort from the feel of her against his fingers. So, the fucker still thought he could bend him over a table and ram it in without any lube? That was hilarious.

"Don't fucking think you're gonna empty your junk in my box and expect me to thank you for it."

"My daughter will be returned to me before this month is through or else there will be severe repercussions." Slade half-turned towards him. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

Negan studied him through slightly narrowed eyes. There was a lotta shit he had done since this world went to hell. Some of it he was proud of and considered right for whatever the situation was. Some shit he accepted as being necessary to make sure he and all the people in service to him survived. Everything he had done had managed to keep more than seventy survivors alive after the end of the fucking world.

Prick and a handful of others might see what he had done as evil, but he'd counter that sick fucks like the Whisperers defined the word. He restored some semblance of civilization to the world and maintained it with a stringent set of rules. The alternative was chaos. Nobody would survive if that happened. Were there things he regretted and wished he could go back to undo? Abso-fucking-lutely.

He would never have screwed around on his Lucille for one.

He wouldn't have lied to her for another.

And he sure as shit wouldn't have left her to rot on that goddamn hospital room floor.

Despite everything he had said and done, there were three things he had never done and which he would never allow: rape, physical abuse of a woman or child and third, knowingly or willingly place a child in danger. Now, sure, he could see how some might call him a big fat fucking liar there. He  _did_  order Prick to chop his boy's arm off. And Prick  _did_  eventually mark where to cut.

He wasn't the one who put the little serial killer in the hot seat. Prick did when he brought the kid with him and the rest of his band of fucks. It was Prick who made his boy part of the situation by continuing to give him those fuck you eyes and tell him how he was gonna kill him and all his men.  _Shit, it wasn't like I planned to have him cut the kid's goddamn arm off._

Fin'd have had his balls if he had gone through with that shit.

Hell, he would have chopped them off for her if Prick had gone through with it. He didn't enjoy hurting women or kids. Killing men? Well, he could do that shit all day, every day. He enjoyed it. Physically assaulting women or defenseless kids, though? That shit turned his stomach. He created rules to make sure that sorta shit didn't happen here at the Sanctuary or any of his other satellite depots. Any asshole caught breaking those rules didn't live long.

He held up the earring Slade tossed at him. The diamond and aquamarine stones gleamed in the thin beams of light poking through the glass overhead. A smile spread across his face as he fondly remembered the event where he had seen this earring. Fin had been wearing it, along with its mate the night her cute lil' ass seduced him.  _And we sure as shit made some beautiful fucking music together that night_ ,  _didn't we, babydoll_?

He had suspected long before Slade gave him the earring that Fin and Fenix were the same. Any woman who could wade into a horde of infected with the confidence of an Amazon, easily smoke out a rapin', murderin' fuck or knock heads together without blinking was beyond an ordinary one. Sure, he had seen and met many women who could take care of themselves. Everyone had been forced to adapt.  _Even Fin admits she had to change to deal with the bullshit this world tossed at her._

Not many of the women he knew possessed the necessary skills and abilities to make them a match for the one-eyed prick leveling demands and threats at him. No, those sorta skills and shit could only belong to someone who was specially trained and who operated in a role that required them to have such a set of skills and abilities.  _The goddamn woman didn't act like Wonder Woman_ , he thought as he drank the rest of his tepid coffee. She pretty much  _was_  Wonder Woman.

Normally, knowing someone was keeping such a huge ass secret from him would send him through the fucking roof. Wives he found screwing around on him, lying to him or doing other shit behind his back got a choice of either going back to earning points or getting kicked the fuck out. Fin wasn't like those wives. He never had to wonder if she would try to stick a knife between his ribs as he slept or put a lethal dose of rat poison in his favorite brand of whiskey.

Loyalty was a religion to Fin. She was more fanatical about it than most priests. One of the things he liked most about her was that she not only had a set of principles but stuck to them. She told him no and she fucking meant it. She wasn't keeping shit from him to feather her own little nest. No, what she was doing was protecting her chickadees from the fucking hawk trying to snatch them from the nest.

_Not gonna happen_ , he decided. The one-eyed prick wasn't gonna get his hands on either Fin or her daughter.  _Don't matter if he is or isn't the girl's father_ , he thought as he set the empty mug on the desk.  _He ain't getting his goddamn hands on her._ Rules were rules. Even Fin had a set of them she abided by.

Even if her set of rules tended to conflict with his quite a lot.

Secrecy was her only true crime here. And it did not, he decided, accede all she had done for him and his people. He'd give her a chance to explain why she hadn't told him she was Fenix.  _And has two kids_ , he thought, belly clenching. More than anything, he wanted to know why she hadn't trusted him with that information.  _Doesn't she realize how much kids mean to me? Especially after we agreed to keep Jordan and raise his ass together_?

Briefly, he wondered if her children had her eyes.

He pushed aside those thoughts, along with the slight ache and bitterness. He'd let Fin explain her reasons to him. And once she finished explaining everything to his satisfaction, he would maneuver her cute lil' ass into bed and worship every inch of that delectable body until his sack was empty.

_Yeah, darlin'_ , he said as he tucked the earring into a pocket of his jacket.  _Looks like you've lost this lil' game of chess we've been playing. King takes Queen. You are now mine_.  _And,_ he added as he turned his eyes on Slade,  _you will remain mine._

No matter what the one-eyed dick had to say about it.

"Our deal was for information about Fenix," he reminded the sonuvabitch in a low, warning tone. "Not for me to fetch your daughter for you."

Not that he planned on doing either. No, sirree, he sure as shit had no plans what-so-fucking-ever to hand either Fin or her daughter over to this asshole.  _Shit, he doesn't even call them by their names_ , he realized, fingers tightening upon Lucille.  _It's always my daughter or her mother. As if they're fucking possessions and not people he loves._

"I'm amending our agreement."

"I suggest you get the fuck out before I lose my cool."

Slade pinned him with that one eye. Negan merely sent him an easy smile. Outwardly, he appeared cool as a cucumber. Inwardly, he resisted the urge to wipe that dark scowl off the bastard's face. Slade finally turned away after a few tense seconds, looking at the ugly fuck standing right outside the doorway.

"Gather some men and have them go to Hilltop," he ordered. "Tell them to keep an eye out for Red Robin. And," he added after a second pause, "for Robin, as well."

Fugly Fuck nodded. "Are they to engage them if they show up?"

"No, they are to watch only."

"Yes, Boss." The man went to leave but hesitated. "What about Fenix?"

"What about her?"

"Are they to try to capture her if she shows up?"

"No."

If the fugly looking mother fucker was surprised, it didn't show. Not that much could on skin that looked like a dog made a chew toy out of it.

"What are they to do if Fenix shows up?"

"You tell them not to do a goddamn thing if she shows up," Negan told McFugly. "Not unless they want to meet Lucille here."

"My men are not yours to command," Slade said without turning. "Do not issue orders to them again."

Negan replied by parroting Slade's earlier statement back at him.

"I'm amending our agreement."

"Are you now?" Slade glanced at him from over one shoulder. The warning in the bastard's eye was clear. Not that he gave a shit about it. "And what are you amending it, too?"

"If your fucking fucks are in my goddamn Sanctuary," he said. "They will work for points like the rest of my people. They will provide for me and for them. They will abide by my rules and accept the consequences of breaking those rules. And," he dropped his voice an octave, "they will answer to me when they're here. Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly."

"Good. Now…" He pointed at the exit with Lucille. "Get the fuck outta my Sanctuary."

He enjoyed seeing that eye glitter with stone cold anger and hate. A muscle ticked in the sonuvabitches jaw. His face went hard as stone. The fucker wanted to put a bullet in him. He knew it, Slade knew it, and everyone out in the hall knew it. He kept his cool, however.

He didn't have any choice but to stay calm. He needed him to flush Fenix out. He just didn't know that Negan had no plans whatsoever of doing that.  _She's mine, asshole_ , he told him as he waited for Slade to leave.  _You'll never lay so much as one goddamn finger on her. I guaran-fucking-tee it._

"You've heard what Negan said," Slade said to McFugly. "Tell the men that they are to listen to him when they are here."

"And?"

"And that they will work for him, providing goods and service for…  _points_."

The last was said with a sneer. Clearly, Slade didn't like his points system.  _Too fucking bad_ , he told him silently.  _My castle, my rules_.

"Yes, Boss." A pause. "What are they to do if Fenix is seen?"

"They're to tell Negan when she was spotted. And where it was that she was seen." His eye narrowed. And his voice dropped to a low hiss. "And he will convince the leader of whatever community she frequents to hand her over to him."

"And if she doesn't fucking show up?"

_Which she sure as shit isn't gonna be doing_ , he added silently. No, Fin's days of running around footloose and fancy fucking free were over. She had managed to coolly and logically refute each one of his other requests for her cute lil' ass to stay here as one of his wives, each time citing there was no need for her to stay with him when she had a perfectly safe place of her own to go, and people of her own who needed her.

Well, now there was every reason for her to yield to his wishes. This one-eyed bastard couldn't get his filthy hands on her if she was under his protection. He would take care of her, make sure she and her kids lived the sweet life, and never have to worry about jack shit ever again.

_Yeah, you have finally run out of excuses, baby doll_ …

"Then you will hand over the sheriff and his boy to me." Slade turned away, but not before adding, "Or else we will come to blows."

The gravelly command had an underlying compulsion and was coated in the sort of authority that would make lesser men piss all over themselves. Negan heard it and was more amused than annoyed. There was only one way to handle that kinda challenge, he decided.

"Heh, I have a job for you..." he said with a huge grin. "And I can guarantee it blows."

Slade's reaction was priceless. Anger suffused his swarthy face and glittered in his eye. The best part? The shithead didn't offer a reply. He just stormed down the hall. A smirk twisted one corner of Negan's lips as he listened to the sound of Slade's footsteps fading into the distance.  _Hot_   _diggity dog_ , he thought as he slumped down in his chair.  _Could just about see the steam pouring outta the assholes goddamn ears_.

Everything about Slade Wilson, from the clenching and unclenching of his fists, the slight flaring of his nostrils, and the way he kept glaring at him all screamed at how much the one-eyed dick fucking bastard wanting to tear his goddamn head off and piss down his throat. He didn't because he knew that he didn't have the winning hand that he thought he did.

_Wow,_ he thought, chuckling softly.  _What a piece of shit. Orderin' my ass around as if I'm his bitch_. He shook his head.  _Are you fucking kiddin' me? Did you not see what happened to Prick and his buncha sorry shits after they fucked with me? Did you not see what I did to them? I'm gonna go and get her. What a buncha bullshit._

Not that he couldn't rightly blame the man for trying to assert who was the alpha dog. It was what he had done when he introduced himself to Prick. First impressions were crucial in his mind. They established who was in charge, what the expectations would be, and what would happen should someone step outta line. Slade had stepped way outta line. The muther fucking fuck thought he could waltz into  _his_  Sanctuary, ram his goddamn dick down his throat, and he was gonna fucking thank him for it?  _Who the fuck did the asshole shit fuck think he was? Prick_?

Prick was where Fin was. A thorough search of the Sanctuary had revealed that Harper kid was also missing. The possibility of seeing Prick again eradicated what annoyance he felt with the one-eyed dickhead.  _This day is definitely shaping up_ , he thought as he shoved to his feet.

He could almost imagine the look that would be on Prick's face when he arrived at his gates to retrieve Fin's cute lil' ass. Oh, yeah, his reaction would be abso-fucking-lutely priceless.

"Dwight!" He called out. "Bring me the keys to the hunter's cell!" He paused; considered. "And bring some breakfast with you! Let's show the sorry shit we aren't inhospitable assholes!"

He then hoisted Lucille up into the air and studied her.

"You approve of her cute lil' ass, don't you?" The sun glinted off every one of her barbs. Almost as if she was smiling her agreement. "Yeah, you'd fucking like her. She's a lot like you. Doesn't put up with my shit and lets me know when I've crossed the fucking line." He stopped to swallow the guilt and grief that never seemed to leave him. "She's not you, Lucille. She'll never replace you. I just want you to know that."

He then set her against his shoulder and walked from the room.


	21. Chapter 21

When voices came from his dad's bedroom, Carl assumed it was him and Michonne talking about what happened. The more he listened to the conversation, however, the more he realized the woman wasn't Michonne.

 _Her voice is different_ , he thought as he crept over to his bedroom door.  _Lower, throatier_.

Just like Fenix's.

That was ridiculous, of course. Fenix wouldn't come here to talk to his dad. Why would she? She didn't even know him. Besides that, the conversation between her and his dad suggested they were quite familiar with each other.

She even scolded his dad without him getting pissed off about it.  _Well, not like he would be if it was anybody else who had done it_ , he amended silently. Daryl could say stuff like that but that was because he could knock his dad on his ass if he got belligerent or was being too bull-headed.

 _Who is she_? he wondered as he opened the door a little wider and peeked out into the dim hallway.  _Why is she here_?

And where had his Dad met her?

Shock waves raced down his spine a second later when she said, "He called on Red Robin a few weeks before the incident with Bud to express his concerns about my relationship with Negan."

 _Red Robin_. His pulse kicked, and his fingers twitched on the door he held. That's what she said.  _Red_  Robin.  _Only Fenix would call him Red Robin_ , he decided as he inched out into the hallway to get a better look at her.

Her back was to him so he couldn't see more than a swatch of green and long, dark hair curling down her back. Her feet and legs were bare. Still, despite the lack of body armor, he could tell it was her.

It  _was_ Fenix.

She was there in his house.

 _Unmasked_.

Excitement kicked off the lingering lethargy and exhaustion hounding him since he woke up from his nap. Part of him wanted to push into his dad's room and demand how exactly it was they knew each other.  _Why has he never mentioned meeting a woman named Fenix?_

Did his dad even know she was Fenix? It was possible, given how she was there out of armor that he didn't have any clue about who she was.  _Does he know she works for Batman?_

Something told him his dad didn't have a clue that there were heroes out there keeping watch.  _Even now, with everything going on, Batman still patrols Gotham, Superman watches over the entire planet, and Green Arrow is busy trying to keep the West coast safe with the help of Flash and Green Lantern._

He found himself wondering how many of the other League and Titan members were in Virginia. He knew Robin was patrolling the area. As well as Red Robin. Who else was helping keep things under control?

 _And_   _why didn't they come to our aid last night?_

The last bothered him the most. Had any of the Justice League or Teen Titans showed up then Glenn and Abraham would still be alive.  _Why didn't they come_? Was it possible they were so busy fighting other threats that they couldn't? Or was it that they felt as Fenix and that they got what they deserved for what happened at Negan's outpost?

His musings got cut short when a soft cry sounded from the end of the hall. Judith was awake and likely wanted her diaper changed. Carl went to take care of her but froze when a soft chuff came from his dad's bedroom.

 _Is that Krypto_?  _Nah_ , he decided with a shake of his head. It couldn't be. Her coming here with a dog as well-known as Krypto would just make who she was a little  _too_  obvious. Still, he didn't want to get caught out here in the hall. His dad would have his hide if he found out he was eavesdropping on his conversation.

He ducked back into his bedroom just as the dog exited his dad's bedroom and trotted towards Judith's. He certainly  _looked_  like Krypto. Even the red scarf he wore was similar to the one that the super dog wore.

He was about to open his door and call out to the big dog, but there was a rustling of silk before she told his dad, "We can talk about what to do next later."

"Fine," Dad grumbled. "And after that, we can head to Hilltop to have a talk with Jesus."

"That angsty little Jedi has a lot of explaining to do."

 _Geez, even Jesus knows her_? Carl thought as she padded towards Judith's room.  _Who else knew her and didn't bother to say anything_?

He caught a glimpse of her face as she passed his door and almost gasped. The woman who walked by his door was the same one who showed up after Negan left.

 _But..._ A frown puckered his brow.  _She sounds just like Fenix_.

The woman greeting his sister  _couldn't_  be Fenix. There was no way a woman trained by Batman would have left them to Negan. Even if they deserved punishment for all those men killed, she'd still have stopped that asshole from killing Glenn and Abraham.

So, if she wasn't Fenix, as he assumed, then who else could she be?  _And how does she know my dad?_ That, more than anything was what he wanted to know.

 _I guess the only way to find out is to go and ask her._ Carl opened his door and checked to make sure his father wasn't about before he crept down the hall. He peeked into the room just as she picked up Judith and gave her a cuddle.

"It's okay, angel," she told her as she carried her over to the changing table. "We'll get you out of that wet diaper."

Carl watched as she tickled and cooed, powdered and smoothed, and tidily fastened the fresh diaper. Judith happily babbled throughout the entire process. It wasn't that much a surprise. His sister tended to trust everyone. Soon as Judith was dressed in clean clothes, she picked her up and turned towards the door.

Carl stifled his gasp. He wasn't wrong, he realized. It  _was_  her. She was Fenix. A plethora of thoughts and emotions shot through him as she continued crooning nonsense to his sister.

Some would say she wasn't real.

Fenix was just a figment of some writer's imagination.

An image drawn by some artist to go along with the idea some writer had for a new female superhero.

Only, she was not something created in the mind of some writer or artist. No, she was flesh, blood, and bone. A real and tangible entity he could reach out and touch if he chose too.

 _Like I did that day she saved me from those men in suits_.

The second a booted foot came down on his right shoulder he knew help had arrived. He just hadn't counted on  _who_  the person coming to his rescue was.

Or that she wouldn't come alone.

...

The figure launched high into the air, their shadow in the shape of a bat as it splashed across the ground. Excitement streaked through him as he imagined all the possibilities for who his mystery rescuer could be.

_Batman, Red Robin, Robin, Batgirl, Batwoman, Black Bat..._

The woman who landed in front of him was like something outta the glossy pages of one of his comics.

Only, a comic character she wasn't.

Nor was she some fangirl playacting at being her favorite DC superhero. For one thing, her skills were far and above superior to most cosplayers. Second, her suit wasn't made from plastic tubing, duct tape, and cardboard like all those other cosplayers suits would be.

No, if the fan sites he used to research the Batsuit were correct, then her suit was a custom-made one of the same materials that Batman's was.

The black material molded to her small frame, sheathing her upper arms, torso, shoulders, back, and legs. That suit would protect her from the worst these men would try to do.

Not that they could do much.

The black utility belt she wore low on her hips contained dozens of devices and gadgets that would help her stop the assholes.

The symbol emblazoned upon her chest plate in crimson and gold piping told him who she was.

 _Fenix_ , he thought as her cape billowed behind her like a pair of wings.  _It's Fenix_.

And wherever she was? Nightwing or Red Robin was never far behind. Carl slowly moved into a sitting position, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw the men exchange looks.  _Yeah, know you're in trouble now, huh, assholes?_

Not that their leader seemed ready to order them to fall back.

"So," the dark-skinned man sneered. "Looks like Fenix has finally decided to show up."

"Whenever the monsters are terrorizing the innocent is when I show up," Fenix replied in a low, throaty rasp. "You know that, Askalov."

"What I know is you're outnumbered."

"Am I?" One dark brow lifted. "Or is your arrogance leading you to believe that I am outnumbered?"

"There's no Batman, Red Robin, Red Hood or Nightwing here to help you. The odds," he said, lips spread wide as he swept his arms behind him, "are clearly in our favor."

A soft growl was followed by a white blur as a mammoth-sized dog joined the fray. The dark-skinned man yelped as the white dog lunged at him, snapping his massive jaws and stomping his baseball-sized feet with enough force to kick up dirt and dust.

"Protect the boy, Krypto." Fenix indicated him with a nod of her head. "I'll handle Askalov and the others."

"Interfering mongrel..." The man swung the pipe in his hand, but Krypto caught it between his teeth and yanked it away. "Shit!"

"Protect the boy," Fenix again commanded as she took hold of the pipe. "He's in your care. Let nothing happen to him."

Krypto obeyed her command after snarling one last time at the man, who wisely backed away. He moved to where Carl sat, his chocolate eyes focused on the men standing less than ten feet away.

Carl could only stare at the dog in open-mouth amazement.  _He can't be_... he thought. There was no way that this Krypto was the same Krypto as in the comics. However, the red scarf around his neck with the big S outlined in gold on the back, and the leather collar with the gold dog tag all indicated that it was.  _Does that mean Superman or Superboy could also be nearby_?

He sure hoped so.

The fur along the dog's back and tail stood completely on end when the dark-skinned man made a threatening gesture at him. His razor-sharp teeth showed beneath his slightly curled lip and his muscles quivered beneath his glossy white coat. He was a guardian given orders to protect. Carl knew he would do so with every fiber of his body.

"That mutt isn't enough to help you," the man sneered as he turned back to Fenix. "You've lost. Accept it."

"One of me is still more than enough to take out you and your baboons, Askalov."

A soft  _Ttch_  interrupted whatever the dark-skinned man was about to say. A soft voice then sneered, "And  _you_  tell  _me_  how  _I_  need to share."

Carl's swung his gaze to where a masked teen perched on a low tree branch. His eyes popped wide when he saw the boy. He was only a year or so younger than him, with short-cropped hair a glossy shade of black, and deep blue eyes.

He was in that weird sort of gangly stage where his limbs were out of proportion with the rest of his body. His face, what could be seen of it around the green half-mask he wore, was a bit thin, his nose straight and tilted just slightly at the tip.

His mouth smiled easily, coolly.

His suit was similar to Fenix's. Only, his colors were yellow, red and black. His gauntlets, gloves, and boots were a neon green. Clipped to his gold utility belt was a cylindrical shaped item that would extend into a full-sized bo-staff.

 _Robin_ , he thought as excitement chased away his pain.  _The Boy Wonder is here_.

"Why, if it ain't little Robin." One of the men growled as the others laughed and jeered. "Past your bedtime, ain't it, kid?"

"Past time for your beating." Robin dropped down beside Fenix. "Isn't it?"

Robin's sudden appearance served to momentarily distract the scarred man. Carl half expected him to give the order to retreat.

"The odds are still in our favor," he said. "Not yours."

"Twenty of you against Fenix and myself?" Robin snorted a laugh. "You need more help."

Askalov's smile vanished beneath the weight of Robin's cool confidence. "Get them!" he snarled at his men. "Now!"

The men advanced as one solid human wall before splitting off, moving to flank the heroes on all sides. Against ordinary people, it would be a superb intimidation tactic. Against two people personally trained by Batman?

It was kid's stuff.

They charged as one unit. Back to back, Fenix and Robin took on their attackers, lashing out with boots and fists.

Each was a flurry of lightning-fast strikes and acrobatic-like dodges.

Not a move was wasted.

They fought in perfect sync, always knowing where the other was and anticipating the other's move long before they made it.

Carl thought them the greatest of teams, second only to one other duo: Batman and the original Robin.

Fenix spun the pipe that Krypto confiscated and dealt the dark-skinned man a crushing blow to the side of his head. He dropped to the ground without making a sound.

Carl couldn't help it, he tossed his arms up and whooped a soft cheer. His exhilaration turned into a groan as his body reminded him of the abuse it suffered at the hands of the man called Timo.

Krypto whimpered and pawed at his arm. He obliged the dog's request for attention, feeling that silky fur sliding against his rough palm and curling over the back of his fingers.

The superdog's solid warmth and self-serving brand of comfort were a balm against the burning ache in the middle of his chest. He shouldn't have been out here. He should have stayed home as Dad told him. He just wanted to prove he could do more than watch Judith. Anger bubbled but was rejected.

There was no time now to give into anger.  _Later_ , he promised himself as Krypto rest his furry head on his shoulder. He could be angry about what happened later.

For now, he was just thankful that Robin and Fenix arrived when they did. He didn't want to think about what might have happened had they not showed up when they had. His aching ribs were enough of a reminder about what might have happened had Fenix and Robin not shown up.

...

He hadn't told his dad about what happened while he was out on that run. There hadn't been time what with Maggie getting sick and all. His dad would have enough of a conniption about him being out there, alone, and after dark.

 _I wasn't alone, though_ , he thought as Judith giggled.  _She was there._

_With Robin._

_And Krypto._

He really hadn't thought his dad would believe him. That was the main reason he hadn't told him about what happened. There were a lotta people who didn't believe that heroes like "Batman" was real.

To a lotta people,  _Batman_  was just some comic book superhero created to give a bunch of people with a bit of entertainment and fun. They'd laugh at anybody who said he was a flesh and blood man.

 _Especially a dumb kid like me_.

 _He_  knew Batman was real, though.

Same as Fenix was real.

 _Why is she with an asshole like Negan?_ he wondered as she started singing softly.  _He's everything she has spent her career fighting._

By her own admission, though, she had feelings for the asshole.  _And she's not sorry for them_.

A soft chuff interrupted his musings. Carl's startled gaze swung downwards to find that Krypto had come to sit beside him. He stretched out a shaky hand towards the white dog but froze when Fenix — or Raya Kean, he wasn't sure which name to call her by — spoke.

"You don't need to lurk in the doorway, Carl. I promise that I don't bite."

He glanced at her, saw her standing there with a happily cooing Judith in her arms and a warm smile curving her lips. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but only two words came out.

"You're her."

"Her?" One brow lifted. "Her who?"

"Fenix."

"I am, am I?" Dimples flashed in her cheeks as she smiled. "And why is it that you think I am Fenix?"

"You sound just like her."

"Sounding like someone means nothing." She brushed her fingertips over Judith's curls. "You are starting to sound like your father."

Carl swallowed a curse. She had a point. Many people did tend to sound alike. However, not all of them used particular names when talking about a team member.

"You used Red Robin's codename when you were talking with my dad."

"Maybe I am friends with Red Robin," she countered. "I am from Goth..."

"Aha!" He cut in triumphantly. "There's also that!"

"There's also what?"

"You're from Gotham."

"I am from Gotham," she agreed with a slight nod of her head. "That doesn't mean I am Fenix."

He waved towards Krypto who yipped and stomped his front paws to signal his displeasure at not getting any attention. "What about Krypto?"

"What about him?"

Her parroting questions back at him was wearing on his patience. He tamped his frustration down, recognizing the move for what it was: a stall tactic.

"Krypto wouldn't be with you unless Superman told him to watch over you."

"Well, you're right about Krypto." She rest her cheek against Judith's curls. "Superman did ask Krypto to stay and watch over me and my family."

"Because you have a son who is one-fourth Kryptonian."

"I do have a son, yes." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "He's the same age as you, in fact."

"And his name is Kai-El."

"His name is Christopher, actually."

"Christopher Kent," he gritted. "Son of Conner Kent."

Krypto  _whoofed_  and stamped his feet again but he ignored the big dog as he waited for her to confirm or deny his statement.

"Yes," she finally admitted. "Christopher is the son of Conner Kent."

"You're her," he repeated his earlier statement, firmer this time. "You're Fenix."

He figured she'd again deny it. Or tell him to mind his business. However, she surprised him when she smiled.

"You're right." She shifted Judith to her hip and slowly walked towards him. "I am Fenix. However," she paused in front of him. "As the woman who is going to make you and your sister breakfast... I'd prefer it if you called me Raya."


	22. Chapter 22

"Well, I've definitely seen worse knees than yours," Leslie Thompkins commented as she examined an X-Ray. "Football, basketball, and professional wrestlers all tend to have this same type of cartilage damage in their knees."

"Mhm," Bruce replied absently, only half-listening. He had too many other things on his mind to worry about the types of injuries that professional athletes tended to get. "That's nice."

He sat on an examination table in the hospital that Leslie helped set up after the virus outbreak. Alfred called her for an appointment only after voicing his standard objections about what he was planning being foolhardy and ill-advised. Bruce shrugged off his objections, citing that getting more mobility back in his knee was best all around. Not that Alfred believed him.

Not that it mattered. Bruce was doing what he felt was best for himself and for his family. Not that he didn't understand Alfred's concerns. He did. However, what Alfred — and Dick, Diana and Barbara — was not taking into consideration was that he didn't have any other choice. Not when it was the Joker. He had to stop the Clown Prince.  _I need to stop him_ , he added silently.

"Bruce, have you even been listening to a word I've said?"

Bruce shook himself from his thoughts and glanced at Leslie.

"You said my knee isn't that bad."

"No, I said I've seen worse in athletes."

"I should be able to get back my strength and mobility back in it, though, right?"

"You might get some mobility back," she acknowledged with a nod. "But the knee itself will never be as strong as it once was."

"But if you've seen worse..."

"Bruce, there's  _no_  cartilage in either of your knees." She frowned at him from over the rim of her glasses. "And there's not much more in your elbows or shoulders." She slid the X-Ray into a folder and set it atop a cabinet. "It's honestly a miracle you move as well as you do. Most men in your condition would be in constant discomfort and taking high doses of pain medication to combat the pain they're in."

Bruce merely grunted. Pain was a constant he accepted long ago. It came with being Batman. It was the price he paid for the life he'd chosen to live. Injuries were a small price to pay for the service he provided to the people of Gotham and all over the world.

"Is there anything that can be done to strengthen the knee?"

"There are a number of cartilage repair and regrowth procedures out there that would help," she said slowly, her face pensive. "Microfracture, meniscus transplant, osteochondral autograft transplant." She cocked her head to the side. "There's even cell-based cartilage resurfacing."

"All of those require time and specialty equipment and doctors we don't have at this moment," Bruce pointed out. "I need something that will work long enough for me to find and stop the Joker."

"And I'm telling you there's no such miracle fix out there." With her face scrunched in disapproval, Leslie walked over to take a seat on a stool. "You want to strengthen that knee? Then cartilage repair or regrowth is your only option."

"What about a knee brace that would serve as a replacement for the mission cartilage?"

"It's possible it would work," she allowed. "But it's not going to work as a long-term solution."

"I don't need a long-term solution," Bruce told her. "Just something that will give me enough time to stop the Joker from doing whatever he's got planned."

"Why don't you just let your protégés handle him?"

"Because I need to stop him, Leslie."

"You don't  _need_  to do anything, Bruce."

"I need to stop him." He kept his tone light, neutral. The last thing he needed was Leslie angry with him. "I have to make sure the Joker is no longer a threat before I walk away for good."

"The truth is that you  _want_  to go after him."

He didn't bother to deny it because it was true. He did want to go after the Joker. He needed to stop him. Not Dick, Jason or Tim.  _Him_. He was the head of the family. It was up to him to keep everyone safe.

"Leslie," he said finally. "I have to go after him. There is no other choice."

"Why?" She demanded. "Why do you have to go after him?"

"Because we have no idea what he's got planned."

"Do you ever know what that damn clown has planned?"

"No," Bruce admitted with a sigh. "But he's had three years to put whatever he has in mind together."

"And that makes the only one qualified to stop him is you."

"Yes." He leaned forward. "Now, will a carbon-fiber brace work to stabilize the knee enough for me to go after him?"

Leslie was silent for several moments. Finally, and with a heavy sigh, she nodded.

"It should, yes."

"Then I need to place a call."

"To Lucius Fox, I take it?"

He nodded as he stood. "Yes," was all he said as he slowly limped from the room.

...

"What  _are_  you doing?"

Barbara's voice Dick jerked out of the haze he had fallen into as he sifted through a box of CDs and cassette tapes that Alfred had stashed in the entertainment cabinet some time ago. He fumbled a few cases and stifled a curse as they fell to the ground. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay. I was just so lost in thought that I didn't hear you in the hall."

"Obviously," she said dryly. "If I was an intruder you'd have been in trouble."

"No." He sent her an easy-going smile. "They would have been the ones in trouble."

"You were the one not paying attention."

"Yes, but they're the ones who'd have been fried before they even managed to make it into the manor." He went back to digging. "Or did you forget about Bruce having installed those electric plates after Talia sent her armed assassins here a few years back?"

She grimaced. "I honestly thought he was kidding about installing those."

"When has Bruce ever joked about security measures he's said he's installed?"

"Well... never."

"Exactly."

"Still, you weren't paying attention because you're so engrossed in that box..."

He heard the mild curiosity in her tone but chose not to tell her what he was doing. He wouldn't until she directly asked him what he was doing. He replied with a vague, "I'm going through it," just to see what she'd do.

"Clearly." She harrumphed. "And making a big mess from the looks of it."

"I'll make sure to clean up before Alfred sees it."

"You better or there will be hell to pay."

He looked up, a teasing comment on his lips, but found himself too distracted by the sight of her to speak it. He couldn't help it, though. To him, she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Even with her red hair pulled into a messy bun, a basket of laundry perched on one hip and a blue blanket with little yellow duckies draped over one shoulder.

_Richie's favorite blanket._ The one she repeatedly told him that he needed tucked over him or he wouldn't go down for a nap. He didn't think Richie even knew there was a difference between his ducky blanket or the teddy bear one. However, he knew better than to argue with Barbara about stuff like that.  _Life's so much easier when I just smile and nod_.

Where Richie was at that moment, he didn't know. If things were like they were earlier than his son was holding court as Diana, Gordon, and Cass all took turns tickling, cooing, cuddling or talking baby nonsense to him.

_Even Bruce tends to forget himself when he's around Richie_ , he realized. Not that it was that much of a surprise. Bruce came off as cold, insensitive and uncaring. A large part of that was because it fit the image he cultivated as Gotham's dark protector. The truth, though, was he cared a great deal. He wouldn't work as hard as he did to protect people if he didn't.

Being Batman came with sacrifices. Something Dick discovered when he became Robin but didn't fully appreciate until the first time he took up the mantle. Granted, he could separate himself from Batman easier than Bruce, but there were still prices he had to pay. Especially now that he was a husband and father.

Having so many people around to keep an eye on things was the biggest reason why he agreed to live here at the Manor. He didn't need to worry that his wife and son were safe while he was out on patrol or away handling League business.

It was just the rest of his family he had to worry about.

_Alfred urged patience. Said I had to wait until they contact me. I can't do that, though. Not when it's the Joker. I need to know they're okay. I need them to know that I'm here for them. And this,_ he thought as he picked up a CD _, is the only way._

"Dick? Did you hear me?"

"Huh? Wha?" With a quick, sheepish smile, he set the CD to the side and looked at her. "Sorry, what did you ask me?"

She harrumphed again.

"I asked what you're doing, bird boy." She sent him a pointed look. "For the second time, I might add."

That was Barbara for he'd better answer her this time or else.

"I'm compiling a list of songs." He picked up a few more CDs and cassette tapes and moved them off to the side in what he termed the  _haven't decided yet_  pile. "Thought sorting through an old box of CDs and mix tapes would be easier than sitting for hours in the cave and browsing through the catalog that Bruce has on the Batcomputer."

"Considering how massive that catalog is," she said, "it would take hours just to find three songs."

He held up a few cassettes and CD cases.

"Hence why I'm going through these old CDs and cassette tapes."

One eyebrow tilted up. "Don't you have most of the songs you like burned on your iPod?"

"I did... yes."

"What do you mean 'you did'?" Suspicion darkened her tone. "Don't you still have it?"

"I still have the iPod," he confirmed with a nod. "But it's not gonna be of any use."

"Why not?"

"Because Damian smashed it in a fit of rage months ago."

"Ah." She set the laundry basket down and came to crouch beside the box. "Well, that would definitely make it unusable."

"Just a bit, yes."

"So, may I ask  _why_  you're compiling a list of songs?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "In need of a new playlist to play while you're out on patrol?"

He snorted a laugh. "Hardly."

"Then why?"

"Well, since I can't get an actual verbal message from your cousin to tell me what is going on down in Virginia, I'm going to try to get one from her using other means."

"Other means being music?"

He nodded. "Yup."

"What makes you think that Raya will respond to music if she isn't replying to any of the other messages you have sent her?"

"Well, this is something she will know is directly from me and only me."

"Oh?" Her other eyebrow winged up to join the first. "And why's that?"

"Because it's something I'd do back when I was on patrol and needed to say something to her that I didn't want Bruce or Alfred to hear. A little Robin-Fenix code you could call it."

"And Bruce never figured out what you were doing?"

He shook his head, grinned. "Nope."

"That must have driven him bonkers."

"Oh, it did." He chuckled softly as he recalled how irritated it had made him. "We had so much extra homework that I'm surprised he ever let us out of the cave."

"He gave you  _both_  extra homework?"

"And me additional field tests and tasks."

"Wow..." she breathed out. "That seems a bit excessive for not telling him about your secret code."

"Well, I think he was more annoyed by our song choices than he was about us having a secret code."

"You chose music that annoyed him on purpose, didn't you?"

"Me?" All innocence, Dick picked up another couple of CDs and moved them to the definite pile. "Why, whatever gives you that idea?"

"I know you." She picked up a cassette case with a smirk. "I know how that mind of yours works."

He sent her a smirk over his shoulder. "That's what  _you_  think."

She just hummed as she sifted through the remaining CDs and tapes in the box. Barbara  _did_  know him better than anyone else in the family, he acknowledged silently as he watched her. However, she didn't know him as well as she thought she did. There were many secrets and things he hadn't ever told her.  _And many things I keep buried because I don't want them affecting her._

"So, how did you manage to do it?" Her head cocked to the side and her eyes behind her glasses glistened with intrigue. "Did you have a way to play a file on the Batcomputer? Or did you hack her phone, and have it play as a ringtone?"

"Well, until Bruce burned every song under the sun into the Batcomputer, I'd hum part of a song as we were talking on the coms."

"Ah, and she'd reply in kind?"

"Usually with another song, yes."

"It's an interesting code." Barbara's eyes narrowed as she contemplated one CD. "But I don't see it working. Tim scrambled communications on their end."

"I know."

"Then how exactly do you plan on using the songs?"

He set a copy of the Backstreet Boys greatest hits on the pile of maybes. There were a few songs he could think of that would work as coded messages that'd also annoy the hell out of Damian.  _Double win_ , he thought as he set some empty cases in another box. He not only got to send a message to Raya, but he got to pester Damian by playing music that would drive him insane.

"I'm going to make a playlist of songs and upload them to the server and..."

"Use the Batcomputer to stream the music to her..." she said as she figured out what he was planning. "Rather like how we use Apple's Airplay to play music across our devices at the same time."

"Exactly." He glanced at her. "Do you think it will work?"

"It should since the Batcomputer is the main server. It controls all the other computers on the network." She rose to her feet. "Rather an ingenious idea you've thought up here, bird boy." Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Must say I'm impressed."

"I'm just hoping it works as I hope and that she replies."

"It will, and she will." She walked back to the basket of laundry. "She's not ignoring you, Dick. Not on purpose."

"I wish I could believe that…"

"You're the first one she reaches out too when she needs help." She picked the basket up and perched it on her hip. "You always will be."

"Not always," he said. "I wasn't there for her the last time she asked me for help."

"You were needed elsewhere, and she understood that." She turned then. "So, quit beating yourself up about it and move on."

"Easier said than done," he grumbled as he resumed his search. "Easier said than done."

...

The cell door groaning jerked Daryl into an upright position. He half expected that sumbitch, Dwight to enter with his standard breakfast of dog food smeared on a milk bone biscuit. Instead, the last asshole he wanted to see or hear stepped into the light, a huge, smart-ass grin spread across his whiskered face, and that damn baseball bat of his slung over one shoulder.

"Wakey-fucking-wakey," Negan said. "Time to rise and shine and all that shit."

Daryl didn't bother to reply. There was no point in his mind. Negan was gonna do enough talking for the both of 'em.

"Aw, what's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" That grin got wider. "See, now, I'm just trying to make friendly here. Our relationship did start with me beating the holy fucking fuck out of your friend's. The gravity of that is not fucking lost on me. Let me assure you of that."

He could well imagine that what Negan had done wasn't something he'd forgotten any more than Daryl himself had. Only, the asshole didn't feel one bit sorry for what he had done. No, he had enjoyed every moment of it.

"I am well and truly fucking sorry for that shit happening," Negan said. "But you gotta understand something. Rules are rules for a fucking reason. And you fucking fucks broke them. I didn't have any choice but to teach you what the consequences are for that shit."

Daryl merely glared at him, silently daring the sumbitch to do something; anything. He was ready for the end to come. It was what he deserved after what all he did to Glenn. He got denied that request, much as he had been all the other times he prayed for that bat to make short work of him.

"Now, you're the second muther fucking fuck to make them fuck you eyes at me today."

"Yeah?" Daryl managed to croak. "And what'n hell you do to the other sumbitch? Huh?"

"Well, now, you see." Negan crouched so they were eye-level. That bat of his sat before him as a silent warning of what would happen if Daryl made any move whatsoever against him. "I can't do jack shit to Slade fucking Wilson." His eyes gleamed with pleasure and delight. "Not fucking yet, anyway. I still need the one-eyed fucking fuck. He gives me shit that we need in exchange for information."

That name set off bells inside Daryl's head. Mule mentioned a man named Slade. Said he was a mistake she couldn't get the hell away from.  _Was that the sumbitch I heard outside my damn cell earlier_?

"You, though?" The asshole pointed at him. "You, I can cut pieces from. Pieces I can put in a fucking box and personally deliver to Prick." He cocked his head. "Of course, if I do cut pieces from you and take them to Prick..." he trailed off into a thoughtful silence. A clear sign he knew something and was relishing the moment before the reveal. Just like he had before he brought that bat down on top of Abraham's head. "I will piss off someone's cute lil' ass."

"Yeah, and who'n hell would get pissed off if'n you cut pieces off my ass?"

"Well, you see, hunter fuck, I know her as Fin. But you? You likely know her as Fenix. Or…" Daryl's world tilted as Negan paused. He could hear his heart thudding in his chest. Feel it in his throat. "Do you know her by her real name? What did that one-eyed fuck call her?" He made a faint sound deep in his throat. "Raya? Yeah, that's her real name."

Struck mute, Daryl could only watch as Negan's smile became that same demented one he had right before bringing that bat down on top of Glenn's head.

"Yeah," he said as he slowly stood. "I betcha didn't think I would find out you knew her, huh?"

"Leave Mule's ass outta this," he managed around the sandpaper in his mouth. "You hear me? You leave her ass outta this shit."

"I guess you better play by the rules then, huh, hunter fuck?" Negan signaled to someone standing behind him. "Now, get your ass dressed. We're gonna go and retrieve her royal fucking highness from Prick."

Daryl realized he had no choice but to play along.  _For now_ , he thought as one of Negan's men tossed a balled-up wad of material at him. That it wasn't Dwight who tossed the garment at him dawned on him only after he was dressed and loaded in the back of a supply van.

_Where'n hell is he_? he wondered as the truck rumbled down the road towards Alexandria.


	23. Chapter 23

As Slade made his way through Negan's domicile, he found himself thinking about others who thought they could get away with using, manipulating or outright betraying him.

The first person who came to mind – who always came to mind - when he thought of people who betrayed him was Billy.

Even now, all these years later, Billy's betrayal still caused his veins to fill with a flood of cold rage.  _And why shouldn't it_? He questioned as he stormed by a group of men and women.

He and Billy had been more than simple partners. They were more than friends even. They were brothers. Billy was his son's godfather, in fact. Yet none of it mattered once they reached an island in the North China Sea called Lian Yu.

Things went down the shitter before he and Billy even reached their destination. A tomahawk missile collided with the rear of the plane, announcing a military presence on the island that their intel clearly had no prior knowledge of. With no other choice or options open to them, they set the plane down and went to ground.

They managed to evade capture for a few days. However, their luck ran out during a bad storm. They got taken back to a military-style camp and subjected to every manner of torture that bastard, Fyers, could come up with. Every one designed to get them to break and reveal what organization they worked for.

Not that  _he_  did.

The same couldn't be said for Billy. In a move that left him reeling, Billy agreed to take Fyers offer to join him and his cause. Slade found himself too stunned for hurt or fury. Never would he have expected Billy to betray him. To turn his back on everything he stood for, put his life on the line for.

That they almost died for.

For almost a year, he languished in that camp, enduring the physical torture Billy inflicted all the while planning his revenge.

He hoped for rescue a few times but quickly realized no one was coming for him. Nobody knew to come for him. It didn't matter. He had been abandoned, presumed captured or worse yet, dead, many times before. It was the price one paid when they worked for the Australian Secret Intelligence Service. Deceit, treachery, and death came with the territory. They were parts of his job that he accepted when he agreed to his first assignment.

Lian Yu proved his final straw, however. His time on that appropriately named rock broke him down and changed him in ways he never expected. Billy was only the first person to stab him in the back while he was on the island. The second and most unforgivable bit of treachery came from the kid he took under his wing and helped turn into a man.

Before he entered his life, Oliver Queen was nothing but the spoiled son of a billionaire. After being trained some by him and Shado, he became a force to reckon with. Together, they managed to stop Fyers and rescue Shado. Things didn't go the way they anticipated, though. Rather than escape the island as they hoped, they found themselves having to fight an entirely new enemy: Anthony Ivo.

Ivo was searching the island for a beached submarine containing a Japanese serum rumored to give super strength to those injected with it. There was little question that they needed to find the submarine before Ivo. Not only was keeping the serum out of his hands crucial, but there was hope it'd help to heal the burns he suffered following an explosion. They managed to find the submarine, buried as it was in the island's infrastructure and found a container of the mirakuru still onboard.

He was close to death when Oliver injected him with the mirakuru. It was like hot lava coursing through his veins. White-hot pain rocked him from head to toe. The silence of the darkness slowly enveloping him had provided a much-needed balm to the pain ripping him apart at the seams.

Slade could well remember the cold hands of death sinking their claws into him, pulling him into an embrace that was deceptively soothing and inviting. How easy it would have been to give in, to let go of it all, and fade into that comforting abyss. If he had been the sort of man who quit when the road got a bit bumpy then that's what he'd have done.

However, the one thing Slade Wilson had never been was a quitter. He wouldn't sail off into that long goodnight without putting up a fight, first. With the mirakuru flowing through his veins, Slade fought off death's clutches and went to save Shado from Ivo and his men.

Only, he arrived too late to stop her from being shot in the head by Ivo. Even now he could feel her still warm body limp and heavy in his arms. Blood trickled down her face from the blackened wound in her temple. He buried her next to her father before going after the man responsible for her death.

That was when he discovered Oliver's betrayal. Not only had he stolen Shado's affections away from him, but he caused her death, too. Had he not jumped in front of the Lance woman to protect her, Ivo wouldn't have shot Shado. Oliver tried to reason with him, to explain what happened, but a red haze clouded his mind and kept him from thinking rationally.

Promises carried a special meaning for him. They were not guarantees he made recklessly, wantonly or foolishly. He tended to treat them as others did the tenets of the religious beliefs that once dominated the world. Yet that night he made a promise: to make Oliver Queen suffer for what he had done.

Oliver — much like Billy — discovered how well he kept his word during their confrontation on board the Amazo...

…

_Amazo, the past_

It happened all the sudden. One minute, he was charging at the kid, poised to deliver the final, crushing blow to a man he once considered his friend. Who he called his  _brother_. Then the floor beneath his feet pitched and rolled violently. He struggled to stay upright as an explosion happened from somewhere behind him.

Sparks rained down as the bow of the Amazo separated from the rest of the groaning freighter holding it in its clutches. He and Oliver got thrown to the deck as the last of the ship's support beams buckled and snapped. Twisted, burning metal tumbled down from overhead, sizzled and steamed as it met the water flooding the hold at an even more accelerated rate. Then came searing hot pain followed by a cold oblivion.

When he regained consciousness a few minutes later, he found himself flat on his back, crushed by a fallen beam, its massive weight pinning him to the floor. His vision was a bit blurry and his recollection of things a bit fuzzy, but he was still clearheaded enough to see that this section of the hold hadn't yet flooded with seawater.

A furtive glance told him it would only be a matter of time before the water rushing in reached where he was. He shoved at the beam across his chest, grunting with the effort, but it did not move.

Slade hissed out a curse and used all his strength to lift the beam enough to wriggle his way free. It wouldn't budge. He howled like a wild animal, his curses becoming fouler with every breath, and his mirakuru fueled rage more volatile.

A movement to his right caught his attention and he turned his head in time to see the kid. Fate was again on the bastard's side as he somehow managed to get tossed clear of the falling wreckage. Oliver approached where Slade was held captive, an arrow held loosely in his right hand and a glass vial that was somehow still intact, in the other. Slade knew what was inside that syringe. Same as he knew what the kid hoped to do with it.

Not that he planned to let him.

If Oliver wanted to inject him with that substance, well, he would have to knock him out, first. He renewed his struggle with the beam, feeling his fury mounting, and his hatred for Oliver becoming an even more terrible entity.

"What do you think you are gonna do with that, kid?" His lips twisted into a sneer. "Stick me with it? Cure me of the mirakuru?"

"That's exactly what I am going to do, Slade." Oliver's voice shook with exhaustion and pain. "I'm going to cure you of the mirakuru and end this before any more people end up getting hurt."

"You were the one who gave me the mirakuru in the first place!"

"That's why it needs to be me who gives you the cure, Slade."

"Go ahead!" His challenge sparked the kid's temper. As he knew it would. The kid was nothing if not predictable. "Cure me! It will change nothing, kid." His lips curled into a smile full of the malice in his heart. "I will keep my promise! I will take away everything and everyone you love!"

The kid's features were like granite. His lips thinned into a hard, uncompromising line. Oliver was doing his best to suppress his anger, but Slade could see he all but vibrated with it.

One small push was all it would take to bring out the killer he knew lurked just below that glacier calm. He struck where he knew Oliver was the most vulnerable, every word a dagger he plunged straight into the bastard's black heart.

"Sara was only the first," he told him. "I guarantee that she was only the first of those I will take away from you!"

Oliver's grip on the vial loosened.

"Your pretty little sister..."

His fingers flexed around the shaft of the arrow in his other hand.

"Sara's sister." Malevolent spite dripped from every word. "Laurel..."

_And there_ , he thought as anger blazed in the kid's eyes.  _There is the killer I know you are._

He moved in for the kill.

"Your mother! I will kill them all!"

The last thing Slade saw was Oliver rear back with that arrow. His world erupted in pain as that arrow drove through his right eye.

After that there was nothing.

…

That promise saved him from what would have been certain death. While the mirakuru worked to repair his broken bones and torn flesh, his anger and hate kept him focused mentally. His promise that Oliver Queen would not die until he had known complete and utter despair fortified him, strengthened him, firmed his resolve to survive and see his words carried out.

He held to that promise for the nearly two weeks he navigated the treacherous waters of the Northern Pacific. Even when the churning waters tossed him about as if he was little more than a piece of paper, hammering his body, stealing his strength until it finally pulled him below the surface, his vow to make Oliver pay kept him strong.

Negan would learn — much like Billy and Oliver — about the price for crossing him. He would relish making the man pay for his audacity. Seeing him twitch would be...

"Boss?"

Slade shook himself from his thoughts and turned to look at Liam.

"What is it?"

"One of Negan's men…" He cut his eyes towards a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick mustache. "Wants a word with you."

"Does he now?" He turned to the man. "And exactly what word does he want to have?"

"I know where the woman you're looking for can be found."

Slade felt his interest perk but didn't allow his hopes to get raised too much. Many had told him they knew where Raya was only to reveal the information was days-weeks-months old.

"And, where is she?" He indicated the factory behind him with one hand. "In there?"

"Tut, tut," the man said with a smile that grated on the last of Slade's patience. "We need to strike a deal before I tell you where she is."

Slade's fingers curled into his palms to keep them from clamping around the man's throat and squeezing the life from him.

"And what is it that you want in exchange for telling me where she is?"

"First, I want the supplies that you've been giving Negan delivered to me."

One eyebrow lifted. "Is that all you want in exchange for this information?"

"No." He shook his head. "There's one other thing I want in exchange for telling you where the bitch is."

Anger surged at hearing him address Raya by that word, but he quickly banked it. He'd make the bastard pay for debasing her once he had her and Rose somewhere safe.

"That is?"

"I want you to kill Negan."

…

Dwight pulled up outside the gates of Alexandria forty minutes after his conversation with Honey. He cut the engine and just sat there for a few moments, internally debating if he was a fool for making the trip here. Was alerting Fin 'bout that one-eyed son of a bitch back at the Sanctuary really worth the risk he was taking?  _These assholes could shoot my ass on sight._

Not that he could really blame them if they did. While he largely agreed that what the sorry shits did at the outpost was wrong, he didn't feel Negan's way of handling shit was that much better.  _Course, things might have been over after he killed the first guy,_ he reasoned as he dropped the kickstand.  _But then that dumb shit, Daryl had to go and sucker punch Negan and caused a whole buncha more shit to go down._

Dwight instantly jumped in and offered to kill the asshole — not because he really wanted to kill him but because he knew he had to show his loyalty to Negan or else Honey could suffer for it — but Negan refused and instead opted to teach the group another lesson by bringing Lucille down on the skull of another of their members.

Dwight had suspected that killing one wasn't going to appease Negan. It was why he shot that asshole, Daryl, before tossing him in the back of that van. Negan would be looking for any reason he could to use Lucille on someone else. Daryl was his most likely target. As much as he disliked the son of a bitch, he felt he owed him for what they'd done to him.

Sure, it put the rest of them in the line of fire. Well, not all of them, he amended as he fished in his pocket for his packet of smokes. Only the kid and the women were safe from getting their skulls cracked open by Lucille.  _If the kid stepped outta line, though..._

Dwight didn't let himself finish that thought. Much as he hated Negan, and his cruel and vindictive ways of dealing with people, he had to admit that there was one thing he wasn't: physically abusive towards women or kids. He didn't order either one killed or maimed. The one time Simon severely punished a kid, he went apeshit and warned that there would be consequences if it happened again.

Him ordering the leader — Rick, he finally recalled his name was — to chop the kid's arm off with his hatchet was a psychological move meant to break Rick. It worked to make him see how powerless he was, how helpless, and how compliance was his best option. He'd provide for Negan now and do what he was told because if he didn't, he could see his son or other members of his group harmed.

Subservience gained through torture and fear. It was what motivated him, as well as many others to pretend they were good little soldiers. Not everyone at the Sanctuary was like Negan. Or like his right-hand man, Simon. Many of them were just like the folks living behind the walls in front of him. Honest, decent, hardworking folk who had the rug ripped out from beneath them and were just doing their best to survive their shitty existence.

Thinking about how much he and the others were like the Alexandrian's didn't help solve his dilemma _._ Was coming here to warn Fin worth the potential loss of life or limb? Part of Dwight liked to think a world where good people did bad things for the sake of survival, Fin managed to keep some semblance of morality and decency.

_She ain't killed anybody living,_ he thought as he reached into his pocket for his pack of smokes.  _Shit, all she has done has been to help people have better lives._

Not that all of 'em deserved her help or even returned the favor in kind.

_Like his ass didn't return the favor,_ he realized, grimacing _._ Fin had done everything she could to stop Negan from punishing him for getting Tina killed and causing some of his men to get maimed.

Not that he listened to her.

Anger and resentment burned beneath his skin as he recalled the feel of the iron as Negan pressed it against his cheek. The pain had been unlike anything he felt before. He imagined that the only thing that could hurt worse was being dropped in hot lava. The sound and smell of his flesh were things he'd never forget.  _One time I wish my shitty memory would work to make me forget something._

Dwight shrugged off his bitter thoughts and climbed off the back of the bike. There was time later to wallow in self-pity. For now, he needed to warn Fin not only about that prick back at the Sanctuary but Negan being on his way here to retrieve her, as well. He slowly approached the gates, keeping watch for any of them undead assholes or anybody else for that matter. Why the hell Fin was there given Negan's feelings about the leader of Alexandria was beyond him.

_Has she lost her damn mind_? he wondered as he stared at the gate. Beyond was a quiet community that people had taken advantage off before the shit hit the fan.  _Is she here to make sure no more shit goes down before Negan sends men for the first pickup_? Of the two, the second sounded more like Fin than the first.  _Woman is sharp as a tack. She wouldn't be here unless there was some purpose involved in it_.

He banged on the gate and stepped back to wait for someone to answer. A man slid the inner gate open less than a minute later. He stared at Dwight through narrowed eyes, a smirk playing about his mouth.

"Who are you?" he finally demanded. "What do you want?"

"Go and get your leader," he told him. "My business is with him."

"Your business is with me since I'm the one who opened the gate."

Dwight's bristled at the man's tone. He was half-tempted to shoot the prick with a crossbow bolt for his bullshit but banked the urge when he saw the number of people inside. Some, he saw, were carrying weapons.  _And wouldn't think twice about using them on my ass._

"Look, if you don't want more trouble than you got already," he told him gruffly, "I'd go and get Rick. And tell him to bring a woman named Fin with him."

"And why should I do that exactly?"

"Because if you don't, Negan will make an example out of another of you sorry shits."


	24. Chapter 24

Alfred waited for him outside the hospital in the smart car Bruce wisely commissioned years ago. Bruce climbed into the back of the luxury vehicle, grateful for having decided to change all his vehicles — his public and private ones — into these more energy-efficient ones.

Many had thought him crazy for having invested so heavily in alternate sources of energy and transportation, but his foresight and Lucius Fox's ingenuity not only kept the majority of the lights on in Gotham but allowed some the use of vehicles to get around.

_Unlike the rest of the world_ , he thought, grimacing. Even working alongside Ray Palmer, Lex Luthor and others to convert more cities to alternate types of energy, many were still left in the dark.

_No matter how much we do, it's not enough_. I fear it never will be enough. The guilt of that, the weight of it, sat heavy on him. What good was all his wealth and knowledge if he couldn't use it to help people survive?

Granted, a team of engineers, construction workers and volunteers managed to transform parts of the city into livable environments, but what about the rest of the world? Many were living in tents or other settlements without electricity, sanitation or clean water.

Many were struggling just to find enough food to eat.

"Did you get the answer you were seeking, sir?" the butler asked as he began the short drive back to Wayne Manor. "Or were you told what you already suspected?"

Bruce gave him a half-amused look.

"I got the answer I needed, Alfred."

"And what answer was that, if I may ask?"

"You already know what Leslie told me." His lips crept up at the corners. "She called you as I was making my way downstairs."

"That she did," Alfred confirmed. "She also said you are not giving up on your quest to again don the cape and cowl and that she fears it will cost dearly."

"You both can quit worrying." Bruce stared out the window, not seeing the dilapidated buildings or empty streets. "If I can't find something that will help support my bad knee, I won't be able to don the cape and cowl."

"Maybe that is for the best, Master Bruce." There was no mistaking the relief in Alfred's tone. "Master Richard wears the cape and cowl now. And has done an admirable job given all he has had to conquer since stepping into the role."

Bruce ignored the butler's subtle jab. He didn't need anyone else pointing out to him how good a job that Dick was doing as Batman. He knew Dick was doing a phenomenal job. He'd not have passed the mantle to him if he thought otherwise. Instead, he took out his satellite phone and hit a number on speed dial. Lucius Fox answered on the second ring.

"This is Fox."

"Do you remember those unusual requests I used to make way back in the early days of our association?"

"The ones we used to have to hide beneath a slew of paperwork and a mountain of secrecy?" Bruce could easily imagine the amusement on the other man's face. "Yes, I remember them. What about them?"

"I have one to make."

"Do you now? And what is it that you need?"

"A carbon-fiber brace."

"Planning on returning to your extracurricular activities, I take it?"

"That is the goal, yes."

Up front, Alfred's smile faded. Bruce caught a glimpse of his careworn face in the rear-view mirror. The butler looked more than a little troubled and not at all happy about his request.

Bruce didn't blame him for how he felt. He understood Alfred was merely concerned. He had made up his mind, though.

As far as he was concerned, Batman was officially out of retirement.

...

Patience was not one of his virtues. Not that he had many of those to begin with. Virtues were boring. They got in the way of his fun! And really, who needed things like morality, dignity or worse —  _ethics_! getting in the way of a good laugh?

Not him!

He got rid of what virtues he possessed when he swam around in that toxic sludge ole Batsy tossed him into.

How liberating that bath was! Not only had the acid given him his perfectly white complexion and gorgeous green hair, but it gave him a new outlook on life to boot!

He got freed from the shackles society placed upon him. He could do what he wanted, to who he wanted and not care about the consequences!

There were none!

No, virtues belonged to someone like the big guy. They were those pesky trivial things that prevented the Dark Knight from seeing the truth about himself. They kept a smile from crossing that grim facade. They stopped him from truly enjoying the games he came up with.

Wasn't that the reason for why he decided to get rid of all those little scamps grasping the ends of that scalloped cape his dearest wore? They were what kept Batsy from enjoying life.

They kept him from paying him the attention he deserved.

However, his every attempt to get rid of the winged brat brigade met with failure. Oh, he almost succeeded once. His lips spread into a wide smile as he fondly remembered the events of a night in an Ethiopian warehouse. Everything went exactly as planned. He led little Robin right to him. Using the boy's own mother as bait worked splendidly!

_Oh, it was so much fun,_  he thought, giggling softly.  _Tricking the little tyke into thinking he was coming to save his mom only to have her turn him over to me in the end_. Why the crestfallen look on the boy's face when he realized his dear, sweet mom sold him out had been the icing on the cake!  _Whoever said you can't enjoy a toy before breaking it?_

Oh, but the little scamp was far more than just a toy.  _Husky Robin_  — as he nicknamed the chap — was his coup d'état. Robin was his way of overthrowing those pesky little virtues his Batsy had and awakening him to the truth: that he was just as crazy as the rest of them.

The plan had been brilliant!

It was a guaranteed success!

He finally figured out how exactly he could get around Batman's one little golden rule. Kill Robin and Batman was sure to  _explode_!

Somehow,  _somehow,_ the boy managed to not only survive the beating he delivered but the bomb he detonated before exiting the warehouse. How the brat managed to do it, he still did not know. And he wasn't terribly amused about it, either. How dare that obnoxious little bird play such a cruel joke on  _him_!

Why, whoever heard of such a thing? The joke wasn't even all that funny in his opinion.  _I mean, really! Faking your own death_?  _That's not all that original_. No, it was quite cruel of the brat to have played such a despicable prank upon his Uncle J.

What was even more atrocious, and far less forgivable to him was how the princess stopped ole Batsy before he could finally take that plunge.  _Just minutes away from showing the big lug the truth and you just had to interfere, Toots_ , he thought, lips turning downwards.

_"Aw..." he gurgled while staring into Batsy's eyes. "Don't be such a par..."_

_The rest of his statement ended with a choked sound as the fingers around his throat tightened their grip. His long, bony fingers dug into Batman's wrist gauntlet, but it wasn't to gain his release from that gloved grasp. No, no! It was to push the Dark Knight into taking that final plunge into the abyss of no return._

_"It's over, Joker," Batman growled. "You're finished."_

_"Over? Why, my dear, delusional, Dark Knight," he choked out. "The fun has only just begun. Soon as I get fr..."_

_Fenix's elbow smashed into his face, momentarily silencing him. He glared at her as pain radiated across his face._

_"Oh, my dear..." he simpered once the pain settled into a dull throb. "I'm really gonna have to hunt you down and kill you one of these days..."_

And kill her, he would. Just as soon as he could get the little darling alone he would have the coup d'état she denied him. She should have opened his present by now. That she hadn't vexed him, greatly. How dare the princess leave the castle before opening his present!

_Well, if she won't open this present_ , he thought spitefully as he watched the big lug climb into a big truck.  _I will just deliver an even better one that she can't help but open!_

He turned away, his lips stretched into a wide grin.

"Twinkle, Twinkle, my little brat..." he sang as he made his way from the Sanctuary. "Soon you will call the big black Bat!"

...

"How do you know my dad?"

Raya anticipated that being one of the first questions Carl would ask her once the initial shock of discovering her in his home wore off.  _I just figured it'd come after he grilled me about Batman, Robin and the rest of the heroes I associate with_. A smile played about her mouth as she moved about the kitchen, gathering the items she needed so she could make him and his sister some breakfast.

_Even though it's late afternoon now and I should be thinking about making them dinner._  She shrugged the thought off. What she chose to make them was not important in the larger scheme of things. Long as they had food in their bellies was all that mattered.

Besides that, breakfast was at any time in her family since their schedules tended to conflict.

It wasn't uncommon for the members of her family to eat breakfast before going on patrol. By the time they returned home, sleep was the only thing they craved. Plus, breakfast was the one meal the family tended to sit and eat together.

_Even Jason tends to come around for breakfast_ , she mused as Judith happily played with the charms on her necklace. That was mostly because dinner was a more formal type affair in the Wayne household. Something Jason Todd didn't do unless Alfred managed to guilt him into it.  _Even then_ , she thought as she unloaded items from the bag she brought with her.  _He doesn't always attend._

When dinners were not formal affairs they were commonly eaten in front of the Batcomputer or during those long stakeouts that were often necessary in their line of work. Raya had lost count of how many times she or Alfred brought dinner to those in the field. It's what they did, however, because their family was a unit that worked together.  _No person's job was too small or inconsequential._

"Was it after he woke up and left the hospital?" Carl pressed when she didn't reply. "Or did you meet him before he got shot?"

_Did his father know me before the world went to hell_. It was what Carl really wanted to know. Not that she could blame him. There was no kid alive who wouldn't want to know if their parent worked with people like Batman and Superman.

She glanced over at him. He was watching her with the same penetrating stare Rick tended to get when he was interrogating her.  _Boy, I bet he has his hands full with you_ , she thought as Judith tugged on one of the charms. She reached up and gently extricated the cat-shaped pendant from her small fingers.

"Kitty," Judith extolled with one long breath.

"Yes, it's a kitty," she agreed while offering the toddler a plastic spoon to play with. "Maybe later I will tell you a story about Krypto and the cheetah cubs he rescued."

"You have cheetah cubs?" Carl shot her an incredulous look, as if he thought she was joking. "Actual cheetah cubs?"

"I do," she said, nodding. "Zephyr and Zip."

"But..." His brow puckered. "Aren't they wild animals?"

"They are, yes."

"Why do you have them then?"

"Their mother was killed and they're too little to be on their own."

That frown darkened. "Killed how?"

"Most likely while trying to protect them from the undead or any of the other predators out there."

"What about when they grow up? Will you still keep them?"

"Ideally, no," she said. "As you said, they're wild animals and should be living in their natural habitat."

"But?"

"But this isn't an ideal world." She went to the sink to get water. "Things change often."

"You want to release them, though."

"Yes." She shut the faucet off and moved back to the stove to stir the milk substance she created with a fork. "I've already discussed releasing them once they're no longer cubs."

"Where, though?"

"There's an animal preserve still operating in Kenya." She smiled as Judith banged the spoon against the bowl she set in front of her. "It's being run by a group of survivors led by Batwing."

A multitude of questions flickered across his face then. His father had the same expression after they first met.  _He's so much like you, Rick_ , she thought, hiding her amusement.

"How many heroes are out there?" Carl asked. "Are the stories in comics real? What—"

"How about we start with me explaining when I met your father and work from there?"

"Okay," he grumbled. "How did you meet him?" A pause. "When?"

"It was after he left the hospital." That was the truth. Insomuch as she knew of it. She had never asked Rick how long it had been since he awoke from his coma. It hadn't been long by her estimation. His wound was still healing and needed medical care. "He just started searching for you and your mom when we met."

"And you met by chance?"

"That's right." She measured and poured flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt into the bowl. "He was taking shelter in an abandoned car when Krypto happened upon him."

" _Krypto_  was the one who found him?"

She nodded. "And let my son know that he was desperately in need of someone to take care of him because he was bleeding like a stuck pig."

"Just because I was bleeding," Rick stated as he entered the kitchen, "doesn't mean I was desperately in need of someone to take care of me."

"Well, Krypto certainly didn't agree." She cracked an egg into the bowl to the delight of Judith. "He made it pretty clear that he wasn't going to let you bleed all over the backseat of that car."

A yip accompanied that statement.

"Don't you help her," Rick told him. "She embellishes stuff just fine on her own."

"Doggie funny," Judith giggled.

"Doggie only  _thinks_  he's funny." More yips and chuffs sounded. "I don't think I want to know what he's saying there."

"No, you don't." Raya smirked as Krypto thumped the floor with his tail. "Don't give me any of your crap or you won't get any pancake."

Grumbles greeted that threat. Not that she'd go through with it. She spoiled the wonder dog almost as much as Kai and Rose. Negan routinely complained about how much she catered to Krypto, calling him a dog and saying he needed to follow the rules like other dogs.  _Like he doesn't sneak him treats or let him sleep on the bed or couch when I'm not around_...

"I'm still amazed that his fussing didn't bring any walkers to our location." A chuff came from Krypto. Rick glanced at him, smiling slightly. "He's saying he wasn't fussing, right?"

"No, he says he wouldn't have been fussing if you weren't being such a stubborn jerk."

Rick snorted and leaned down to brush a kiss to the top of Judith's head. "Jerk isn't what he said."

"No, but little ears don't need to hear that language, now do they?"

"No, they do not," he agreed before he glanced at the quietly percolating coffee pot. "Is that coffee?" He sniffed the air. "That's actual coffee I'm smelling?" He said it so hopefully that it caused her heart to twinge. "It's not that tea blend you kept in that small silver container at the bottom of your bag?"

"It's real coffee and not that tea stuff you hate with such a passion."

"I didn't hate it..."

Her dimples winked. "Well, I tend to recall your body was threatening to up and leave you if it didn't get coffee at some point."

He chuckled as he moved to the counter to pour himself a cup.

"You have no idea how long it has been since we had things like coffee or even tea."

She reached over to set her hand on his shoulder.

"No, I do know," she told him quietly. "I know full well how hard it's getting out there supply wise. That's why me and mine have worked tirelessly to get crops planted and to raise livestock. The shelves are empty and people are going hungry."

"Is that what Batman told you to do?" Carl asked. "To stay here and make a safe-zone for people? To help them with planting crops and stuff?"

"That's part of my job, yes," she said, nodding. "But he also tasked me with bringing our ways to the people. To teach them how to fight the monsters in the dark."

"Because you're not afraid of the monsters."

He said it with such confidence that it pained her to correct him.

"No, Carl. That's where you're wrong." She shifted Judith to her other hip and plugged in the hand mixer. "I am afraid of them."

_Especially the one I left your father to avoid them meeting_ , she added silently. There was time to discuss the Joker later. For now, she'd set the Clown Prince to the back of her mind and make pancakes.

"But..." A frown puckered his brow as he struggled with hearing that someone like her was afraid. "You're Fen..."

"Even Batman is afraid of the monsters we tend to fight," she told him gently. "He's afraid of what they can do and who they can hurt. He's seen what true evil looks like."

_And despite what you think, it's not Negan_ , she added silently. While what Negan had done was beyond abhorrent and something she'd take him to task for once she got back to the Sanctuary, it was nothing compared to what the Joker would do to them. Negan pummeled people with his baseball bat.  _The Joker would consider that child's play_.

"Like what the Joker did to the second Robin."

One bit of comic lore that was almost completely factual in its portrayal. Most of the big events that happened in the comics were kept true to the events that occurred. Bruce's trip through the Omega Sanction, Superboy Prime punching a hole in time, and Jason's death was the most accurate. Most everything else had either been embellished on or retold to the point that the truth was no longer known to even them.

"Like he's done to every Robin," she corrected softly. "And to Batgirl, my uncle Jim, and hundreds of others. The Joker is the epitome of evil. A man who doesn't care about who he hurts."

_Like four boys all your age that he tortured and murdered before hanging them on the fence at the Sanctuary as a message to me_. She didn't tell them about them, though. It was not an appropriate discussion for one. Nor was it the right time for another.  _I will talk with Rick about it before I leave_ , she decided.  _He needs to know in case the Joker comes here._

"Batman knows what the Joker is capable of."

"Yes, he does." She poured the oil and milk she'd mixed earlier with the water into the dry ingredients. "He's seen how far the Joker is willing to go to achieve his end goal. He channels that fear into action. Same as he taught me, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, and Robin to do. Fear rises. That was our first lesson."

And the one they all remembered when they found themselves struggling to go on.

"I thought the first lesson was about falling?"

"Why do we fall?" She moved the full bowl out of Judith's reach. "So we can rise."

"No," Carl denied. "You fall because someone pushes you."

"And we rise and push them back." She smiled at him. "Or in my case, if I can't push them back on my own, I call Batman and let him do it."

"Wouldn't that be cheating?" Rick asked lightly. "I mean, you're, uh, technically supposed to push them back yourself."

"Yeah," she quipped. "I must have been absent on the day that Batman taught the class on playing fair with bad guys."

Rick was about to say something else but pounding on his front door stopped him. Krypto leaped to his feet with a loud bark.

"Krypto, sh..." Krypto issued a long, low growl before he trotted from the kitchen. "We're not supposed to even be here, you, dopey mutt."

"Stay here with Carl and Judith," Rick ordered as he quickly followed the dog from the kitchen. "I'll go and see who it is."

"Rick..."

"Not up for debate," he told her as he exited the kitchen. "Just stay here."

She harrumphed.

"Fine."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all and welcome! Hope life has been good for you! Getting the legal outta the way, I own nothing here but for my twists on the Walking Dead storyline and what characters are not owned by Robert Kirkman or DC comics.
> 
> This story is a bit of a mix from the season 7 and 8 storylines of the Walking Dead with a mix of Batman, Flash, Arrow and even Wonder Woman. I like to think of this more as another of those Earth-verses that DC has in abundance (meaning it is an AU of Walking Dead, Flash and Arrow’s timelines). That said, I won't be following everything that happens in any of the three. 
> 
> I have been editing this story and adding new scenes and chapters. Chapter 2, 9, 10, 11, 12 and 17 have new scenes or are new chapters. 
> 
> Please, if you like this story, kudo/bookmark/comment on it! Happy reading!


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